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HERO TALES 



I 




FRANCIS TREVELYAN MILLER 
Author of Hero Tales" 



HERO TALES 

FROM AMERICAN LIFE 



BY 

FRANCIS TREVELYAN MILLER 

Literary Editor of The Search-Light Library, Founder of the 
Journal of American History, etc., etc. 



/ 




\. 






NEW YORK 

THE CHRISTIAN HERALD 

LOUIS KLOPSCH, Proprietor 
BIBLE HOUSE 






HiR, MILLER AND THE SEARCH-LIGHT INFOR- 
*-^ MATION LIBRARY, IN MAKING RESEARCH 
AND IN THE PREPARATION OF THESE TALES, 
ACKNOWLEDGE THE VALUABLE ASSISTANCE 
RENDERED BY THE FOLLOWING WRITERS: 

WALTER R. BICKFORD, KATE UPSON CLARK, 
CLARA BICKFORD MILLER, ARTHUR FORREST 
BUR-NS, DAVID STONE KELSEY, ELMER MUNSON 
HUNT, MINERVA SPENCER HANDY, HARRY 
CHASE BREARLEY, JOHN MILTON SCOTT, DAN- 
IEL GIBBONS, ELIZABETH B. GRIMBALL, SAMUEL 
EMERY, J. L. COTTELL, ELIZABETH A. SEMPLE, 
LINA DeLAND BREARLEY. 



Npui fork 



CGI.A'.?53:)11 



FOREWORD 



THIS Book of a Hundred Hero Tales is drawn 
from the thousands of incidents of courage 
and bravery with which American History is 
inspired — tales that are close to the human 
heart and which bring with them the glow of manhood 
and womanhood. Not alone the heroism in great 
crises, but the tragic tests of courage in the average 
man and woman — the heroism of everyday life. 

Everyone has the opportunity to become a hero. 
It may not be in war nor in the presence of great physi- 
cal danger. It may be in the sense of duty, in moral 
character, in honesty, in trade, and at work. It may 
be in the burdens and the responsibilities in the home, 
or in the little self-sacrifices that one meets every hour. 
It may be in overcoming habit, or in conquering anger 
by self-control. It may be in self-reliance, in obedi- 
ence, in kindness, justice, truthfulness, usefulness, 
courtesy, purity, ambition, perseverance. 

There are a thousand tests of courage that come to 
every man, woman, and child every day of life. It is 
of these that great heroism springs when life itself is in 
danger. It is the men and women, who through child- 
hood and youth have learned the heroism in little 
things, that respond to their country's call or rise to 
Heroism in Great Things. 

It is not the intent of this book to record history or 
biography, but to tell true stories that grip the heart — 
stories of real Americans who have lived, and many of 

vii 



FOREWORD 



them died," under the American flag — the ensign of 
Liberty that makes heroes. There has been no desire 
to select or nominate the hundred most heroic char- 
acters in American history, but rather to relate a 
hundred thrilling incidents from American life, past 
and present, that make one proud to be an American. 
Jt is a Story-teller ^s Club — a gathering around the 
family table after the day^s work is done. 

In selecting the Hero Tales for this volume, Dr. 
Miller gathered about him a circle of friends, under 
the Editorial Staff of The Search-Light Library, and 
asked each one to relate the most heroic story in his or 
her memory, either connected with some occasion in 
American History or some incident in modern Ameri- 
can life. Then the story-telling began. There were 
tales of war, sea tales, Indian tales, colonial tales, 
frontier tales; tales of the days when America was 
struggling for her independence, of the wars with 
England, and with the Mexicans ; tales of the sad days 
when the American brotherhood was rent by Civil War ; 
tales of the days when America rose as a world power 
and drove Spain from the Western Continent ; tales of 
modern invention, of heroic fidelity to duty in modern 
life ; tales of the home, of the fortitude of women, of the 
love of children. 

These are the tales that form the basis of this vol- 
ume — told with all the mannerism and carelessness of 
the entertaining story-teller, without disturbing their 
romance with historical import or chronological order. 
It is this delightful informality, and simple recital- 
carrying one far back into the centuries, then into the 
life of to-day, only to be carried once more into the 
past — that gives them the charm of the story-teller, and 
brings them to the memory with intense human interest 
and thrilling impulse. 



FOREWORD 



To sit at your fireside with sucli a goodly company 
of brave hearts is a privilege that probably never be- 
fore has come to you. Directly before you, are men 
who imperiled their lives for their country. Here are 
women who withstood the bitterest agonies for the sake 
of their beloved ones. Here is a child who fled into the 
arms of death to save those who were in danger. There 
is the soldier who led an army to victory. Here is a 
captain who brought a thousand lives safely to port. 

You have, undoubtedly, often wished that you might 
see the conquering hero return from war, or clasp the 
hands of the world's bravest men. Here they are with 
you : Dewey, the hero of Manila ; Custer, the hero of 
the Indian massacres; Houston, the frontiersman; 
Nathan Hale, the patriot. Some of them have been 
very near to you: Binns, the hero of the Republic dis- 
aster, the first man to save his ship through the modern 
science of wireless telegraphy; Lieutenant Self ridge, 
who gave his life to the solution of aerial navigation 
while in the service of his country ; heroes of the long 
ago; heroes of yesterday; heroes of to-day — in the 
company of the heroes of to-morrow. 

Draw your chair closer and sit in this companion- 
ship of a Hundred Heroes. Listen to their tales of 
daring. Look into their faces as you hear their stories 
of self-sacrifice. Go with them onto the battlefield. 
Follow them to the cannon's mouth. Stand with them 
on the sinking ship. Sleep with them in the wilder- 
ness. Suffer with them on the trails of the Frozen 
North. Die with them, if need be, for the sake of a 
principle. ^H-r-yr^f 

Then tell me would you make a hero? 



ix 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Man With a Heart Big Enough to Hold the World 1 

The Statesman Who Gave His Life to a Principle . . ii 

The American Flag in the Snows of Canada .... 17 

The Indian Slave Girl Who Unlocked the Northwest . 22 

The Rough Riders Who Carried the Flag to Victory . 27 

The First American Fleet to Challenge the Seas . . 33 

The Physician Who Added Three Stars to the Flag . 37 

The Victor in the World's Deepest Tragedy .... 43 

The Naval Youth Who Destroyed an Ironclad ... 49 

The Mother's Love For the Sake of Her Children . . 54 

The Grim Fighter and the Thirty-eighth Psalm . . 61 

The Green Mountain Boys Who Overpowered a Fort . 65 

The Virginian Who Heard the Call of His Home-Land 68 

The Priest and Cross That Saved Half a Continent . 75 

The Valiant Cavalier Who Would Not Surrender . . 81 

The Widowed Mother Who Gave Seven Sons to Liberty 85 

The Brotherly Love That Founded a Powerful State 89 

The Schoolmaster Who Died For His Country ... 93 

The Cavalryman Who Turned Defeat Into Victory . 97 

The Explorer Who Found a Dark Continent . . . 100 

The Admiral Who Unfurled the Flag in the Orient . 105 

The Scientist Who Appealed to a Heedless World . 110 

The Cabin Boy Who Became the First Admiral . . . 113 

The Tory Father Who Believed Liberty Was a Dream 118 

The Rear-Admiral of the Greatest Fleet on the Seas 123 

The Castaways in the Storm Off Cape Henlopen . 129 

The Troopers Who Plunged to the Valley of Death . 133 

The Homeless Girl Who Fought in the Revolution . . 138 

The Ruined City That Rose Triumphant From Its Ashes 145 

The Southerner Who Loved Two Flags 149 

The Girl Cannoneer Who Won a Sergeant's Honors . 153 

xi 



CONTENTS 



The Airship That Fell From the Clouds .... 
The Watauga Boys in the Charge of King's Mountain 
The Engineers Who Fathomed the Black Canyon . . 

The Lost Ship and the Lost Crew 

The Little Kansan Who Conquered a Savage Race . . 
The Immigrant Girl in the Harbor of a New World . 
The Privateer That Fought Four Ships of War . . . 
The Midnight Raiders Who Rode Through Lines of Death 
The Coppersmith Who Aroused His People .... 
The Telephone Girl Who Warned the Valley . . . 
The Orphan Boy Who Rose to Lead His Countrymen . 
The Battleships That Vanquished a Proud Monarchy 
The Gallant Horseman Who Subdued the Cruel Apache 
The Life-Savers Who Risk Their Lives For Duty . . 
The Diplomat Who Did not Forget the Debt . . . 
The Martyred Seamen Who Broke the Bonds of Tyranny 
The Lighthouse Woman on the Cliffs of Lime Rock 
The College Student on the Great Lakes .... 
The Little General Who Won the Love of His Army . 
The Commander Who Saved the Great Lakes . . . 
The Dying Warrior Who Stormed a Citadel .... 
The Saintly Friend Who Loved Humanity . . . . 
The Conqueror Who Carried the Flag Into Mexico . 
The Mechanic Who Forced the World to Take Heed 
The Major-General Who Fought as a Common Soldier 
A Woman's Compassion in the World of Darkness . . 
The Wounded Captain Who Would Not Give Up His Ship 
The Woodsman Who Saved a Great Seaport . . . . 
The Ploughman Who Heard the Alarm of His Country 
Man's Ambition and the Lure of the Labrador . 
The Philanthropist V/ho Gave His Life .... 
The American Woman Who Appealed to Womanhood 
The "War Child" of the Blue and the Gray . 
The Wireless Operator Who Saved a Thousand Lives 
The Indian Princess Who Loved the White Race . 
The Shipwreck Off the Coast of New England 
The Gallows and the Father of Twenty Children 
The Tennessee Girl Who Guided a Cavalry . . . 

xii 



PAGE 

157 
161 
166 
172 
176 
181 
185 
189 
193 
196 
199 
205 
209 
213 
218 
221 
225 
230 
233 
237 
241 
246 
251 
254 
257 
260 
267 
270 
273 
.276 
281 
284 
289 
293 
300 
305 
309 
313 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Submarine on the Bottom of the Sea .... 317 

The Sea Fighter Who Challenged the World . . . 321 

The Mill Boy of the Slashes Who Became a Statesman 326 

The Frontiersman in the Great Southwest .... 330 

The Girl Pilot on the Mississippi River 334 

The Bayonet Brigade That Charged a Fort in the Night 337 

The Poor Inventor Who Made the World Rich ... 339 

The Trapper in the Wilds of the Rocky Mountains . 344 

A Thousand Horsemen That Encircled a Sleeping Army 348 

The Child Bride of Delaware Bay 353 

The Farmer Boy Who Rose to Lead a Great Army . . 357 

The Heiress of Old Kingwood Mansion 361 

The Mission Church in the Struggle For Freedom . 365 

The Young Lieutenant in the Harbor of Tripoli . . 369 

The Schoolgirl Who Saved Fort Henry ..... 373 
The Wrecking Tug at the Statue of Liberty . . .377 

The Soldier's Wife in the Santee Swamp .... 381 

The Surveyor Who Saved the Middle West .... 385 

The Flood That Raced With the Horseman of Conemaugh 390 

The Scout's Sister Who Was Held Captive .... 394 

The Firemen Who Save Great Cities 401 

The Nurse Who Became the "Angel of the Battlefield" 405 

The Fugitive Boy in the American Wilderness . . . 409 

The Quakeress Whose Lips Always Spoke the Truth 417 
The Naval Officer Who Blew Up His Ship . . . .421 

The Woman "Heretic" Who Died For Her Conscience 426 

The Bridge Builder Who United Two Great Cities . 430 

The Pilgrim Soldier Who Challenged Barbarism . . . 434 

The Sergeant Who Rescued the Fallen Flag . . . 438 

The Pathfinder Who Saved a Promised Land . . . 442 
The Southern Planter Who Became Father of His 

Country 446 



xiu 



' 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING 

Francis Trevelyan Miller, page 

Author of "Hero Tales" . . Frontispiece 

Death of Montgomery at Quebec 17 

The Conflict Between the Serapis and the Bonhomme 

Richard 32 

Destruction of the Albemarle 49 

Capture of Fort Ticonderoga 64 

Lieutenant-Colonel Forrest Leading His Command From 

Fort Donelson 81 

Ride of the Horseman Who Turned Defeat Into Victory 96 ' 

Admiral Farragut at Mobile Bay 113 ' 

Life-Saving Crew to the Rescue of the Imperiled at Sea 128 

Burning of San Francisco 145 

Ruined City That Rose From Its Ashes 145 ' 

The Wright Aeroplane in Conquest of the Air ... 160 

Death of Lieutenant Selfridge 160 

Gunnison Canyon, Where the Engineers Began Their 

Perilous Journey 193 

Life-Raft in Gunnison Tunnel 193 

Cavern Where Engineers Were Imprisoned .... 193 

General Lawton in the Philippines 208 

Army of Aguinaldo in the Philippines 208 

Flight of General Israel Putnam 273 

Susan B. Anthony, Who Gave Her Life to Emancipate 

Womanhood 288 

Surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown 445 



XV 



HERO TALES 






BIG ENOUGH TO HOLD THE WORLD 




This is tiie tale of a log cabin 
that made a man such as the world had never known; a 
man who rose from the forests to a palace within the hearts of 
a great people. It is a tale that makes one feel that there are greater 
riches than money, and that toil has its victories more glorious than war. 

IT WAS in the days when Kentucky was a dense 
wilderness. The growl of the bear came from 
the hills, and the deer darted from the trails. 
Only here and there amid the forests were a few 
rough log-cabins. 

The year was 1809 ; the day the twelfth of February. 
The smoke curled from the huge stone chimney. A 
woodsman stood in the door of a cabin. The morning 
was cold and frosty. He pulled his fur cap, made from 
the skins he had trapped, far down over his face as he 
started out along the trail. In about half an hour, he 
stood at the door of a neighboring cabin, two miles 
away, and pushing it open, drawled : 

^^ISIancy's got a boy-baby." 

The years passed ; and soon that boy-baby was fish- 
ing in the creek, setting traps for rabbits and muskrats, 
and going on coon-hunts. One day a brace of par- 
tridges flew over his head, and across a stream over 
which led a foot-log. The little lad scrambled on to the 
log and was half-way across, when splash ! he fell off 
into the creek. The water was about eight feet deep. 



HERO TALES 



and he could not swim, i^oy comrade saw him sink 
to the bottom and shrieked in terror. Then, grabbing 
a stick, he thrust it into the water. As the drowning 
lad came to the surface, he clutched at the stick with 
both hands and clung to it. The comrade on the bank 
tugged with all the might in his small body and was 
almost pulled into the creek, when, with a desperate 
pull, the half -drowned lad was dragged on to the bank. 
His body was limp. The little comrade shook him 
violently and rolled him on the ground. The water 
poured from his mouth. Soon he began to choke and 
open his eyes, and, after his clothes were dried in the 
sun, he went home whistling. 

The little lad was now seven years of age. His 
father loaded him on to a horse, with his sister and 
mother, and they moved to Indiana. There was no 
road, and during part of the way not even a foot-trail. 
The passage had to be cut with an ax. In the heart of 
the forest, in the neighborhood of Pigeon Creek, a camp 
was thrown up of rough, unhewn logs. This was their 
new home, and it had neither windows nor floors. The 
little lad slept on a heap of dry leaves in the corner of 
the loft, which he reached by climbing wooden pegs 
driven in the wall, and at times potatoes were the only 
food on the table. 

In his tenth year came his first great sadness. His 
mother lay sick. There was no physician within thirty- 
five miles. She called her children to her bedside. 
Placing her feeble hands on the little lad^s head, she 
whispered: ^*Be good to one another. Be kind.'' 

The poor mother was taken from the lowly cabin 
and buried under the trees, and the little fellow's heart 
was almost broken with grief. 

The years in the wilderness passed with long days 
of labor, with the ax in the forest and the life of the 



THE LOG-CABIN 



woodsman, and soon the lad was nineteen years of age 
— a lank, rugged, swarthy youth, standing six feet four 
inches, and strong as a giant. In all his life he had not 
had more than a year's schooling, but he borrowed 
every book within fifty miles of his home and devoured 
its learning like a hungry child. 

It was the custom in those days for a father to bind 
out his son to a farmer or tradesman. So it was that 
this youth was bound out at twenty-five cents a day. 
He was hostler, ploughman and ferryman ; he worked 
for a tavern-keeper and a butcher ; but his wages went 
to his father to whom he owed all his time until noon 
of his twenty-first birthday. He knew nothing about 
money, and when he received his first dollar for carry- 
ing some strangers across the river, it was the greatest 
riches that he ever expected to see. 

**He would walk farther and work harder to get an 
old book,'' said one of the neighbors, ^Hhan any one else 
around him would walk or work to get a new dollar 
bill." 

One newspaper came to the neighboring village. 
The youth would sit in the village store and read aloud 
to the villagers the news from the great world and the 
debates in Congress. 

It was in the spring of 1830 that an ox-team rattled 
along the forests from Indiana to Illinois. Its wagon- 
wheels were round blocks of wood cut from the trunk 
of an oak tree with a hole in the center for an axle. 
There were no roads nor bridges. The driver of the 
ox-team was the gaunt, sad-faced youth, his coat ragged, 
his hat battered, and his trousers of torn and patched 
homespun. He was now twenty-two years old. His 
family were safe in Illinois. He helped build the new 
home, clear the fence for the new farm, and plant and 
harvest the first crop. 



HERO TALES 



' * Father, ' ^ he said, ' ' I think I am old enough to take 
care of myself in the world. ' ' 

*^Go on, boy,'^ said the father, *4et's see what you 
can do for yourself.'' 

The years that now passed were much like thosQ 
that come to every American youth. There was the 
fight with poverty; the struggle to gain the first foot- 
hold; the mighty battle between the right and wrong; 
the decision between honesty and dishonesty ; the con- 
quest of self — the battles that every American youth 
must fight to gain the heights of either manhood or 
womanhood. 

In the midst of these years, the American people 
were burdened with a heavy problem. The custom of 
black slavery, that had existed since the first settlement 
of America, was falling into ill repute. Slowly it had 
been driven out of the North into the South, where 
cotton-fields and climate made it more profitable, and 
now a strong moral sentiment had been created against 
it. The country was aroused. 

It was in the fall of 1858. A great throng had gath- 
ered in a little village in Illinois. Country folk had 
come the night before in wagons, on horseback and 
afoot, and their log-fires lit up the prairie as if it were 
an army in camp. Trains were bringing the crowds 
from Chicago and from the large eastern cities, as far 
as New York. The great problem of negro slavery was 
to be fought out in debate. The conflict was in the open 
air, the vast throng waiting in expectation. Before the 
crowd, on a raised platform, stood a little man, hardly 
five feet four inches tall, but with broad shoulders, a 
massive head, and a voice that deepened into a roar. 

**I don't care whether slavery is to be voted up or 
voted down," shouted the little man, **I don't believe 
the negro is any kin of mine." 



THE LOG-CABIN 



His voice rang with denunciation of the attitude of 
the abolitionist. Half the crowd cheered wildly as he 
sat down after one of the greatest speeches ever deliv- 
ered in the defense of slavery and state-rights. 

A tall, lank man arose, and came to the front of the 
platform. He was six feet four inches tall, his shoul- 
ders stooped, his clothing hung loosely on his awkward 
frame, and a long bony finger pointed at the crowd. 

*^Is slavery wrong T^ he said, speaking solemnly. 
* * That is the real issue that will continue in this country 
when these poor tongues shall be silent. It is the 
eternal struggle between these two principles — right 
and wrong — throughout the world. Slavery is wrong, 
and should be abolished. To this cause I pledge myself 
until the sun shall shine, the rain shall fall, and the wind 
shall blow upon no man who goes forth to unrequited 
toil.'' 

A roar of applause greeted the plain, vigorous 
words. The country was thrilled by the shafts of 
oratory. A new leader had come to carry the banner 
of freedom. As the months passed, the agitation 
reached fever-heat. Then a great campaign came — 
and at its close, the long, lank man of six feet four was 
raised to the leadership of the American people and 
elected to the Presidency — the *' boy-baby'' from the 
Kentucky cabin, the ungainly youth of the wilderness, 
the son of poverty who had left his home but a few 
years before to *'make his own living," was now 
President of the United States of America, the greatest 
nation on the face of the earth. 

It was the eleventh of February, in 1861. He stood 
on the rear platform of the train that was to bear him 
from the little Illinois town in which for some years he 
had lived and practiced law, to the nation's capital at 
Washington. The neighbors gathered about his car 



HERO TALES 



to bid him farewell. The mining was chill and dreary, 
but they bared their heads in the falling snowflakes. 
He gazed at them for a moment. Then he removed his 
hat, and raised his hand for silence. His lips quivered 
and there was a tear on his cheek. His face was thin 
and sad. 

*'My friends,'^ he said, the words choked with 
emotion, "no one not in my situation, can appreciate 
my feelings of sadness at this parting. To this place, 
and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. 
Here have I lived a quarter of a .century, and have 
passed from a young man to an old man. Here my 
children have been born, and one is buried. I now 
leave, not knowing when or whether I may ever return, 
with a task before me greater than that which rested 
upon Washington. Without the assistance of that 
Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed. 
With that assistance, T cannot fail. Trusting in Him, 
who can go with me, and remain with you, and be every- 
where for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet 
be well. To his care commending you, as I hope in 
your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affec- 
tionate farewell.'' 

It was under an angry sky and with a heavy heart 
that the tall, lank man of the wilderness entered the 
White House. It was in the nation's hour of trial. 
The clouds of war had begun to gather, and, with the 
showers of April, broke in fury over the nation, threat- 
ening the destruction of the great republic of the 
western world. 

* * They have fired on Fort Sumter ! ' ' 

The words rang across the continent. The echo 
was heard around the world. The most heartrending 
struggle that ever engaged men of the same blood was 
now on; brother fighting brother; father fighting son; 

—6— 



THE LOG-CABIN 



mothers praying for their boys — one in the uniform of 
the bine and the other wearing the gray; churches of 
the same faith appealing to God, each for the other's 
overthrow. Men speaking the same language and liv- 
ing for eighty-four years under the same flag now stood 
as deadly foes. America, a peace-loving nation, now 
aroused, became the greatest fighting force on the face 
of the globe. 

** Capture the national capital! Burn the city! 
Seize the President ! ' ' These were the wild words that 
lay on the lips of sons of the founders of the republic, 
whose fathers had fought for American independence. 

The awful hours in the White House can never be 
known. The tender heart of the tall, lank man upon 
whose shoulders had fallen the duty of fulfilling a 
nation's destiny, overflowed with love for all humanity 
and bled with anguish at the bloodshed of his people. 

The battle-line crossed, as it were, the threshold of 
the White House, for the President was a Kentuckian 
by birth and many of his dearest friends were fighting 
under the flag of the Confederacy. As duty called his 
wife to lead a ball in honor of the Federal victory at 
Shiloh, one of her brothers, the darling of her heart, 
lay dead on that battlefield in the uniform of the gray, 
and another brother was dying at Vicksburg, as she 
listened to the shouts of rejoicing over the victory of 
the Federal arms. The sad man in the leadership of 
his people was often found in bitter tears over the brave 
death of some beloved friend in the uniform of gray as 
well as in the uniform of blue. 

Duty lay heavily upon the great chieftain. He 
himself, must bring the blow of the crisis upon his 
nation. It was a New Year's Day, in 1863. The tall, 
lank man sat in his cabinet-room with a legal document 
before him. As he took up his pen his hand trembled. 



HERO TALES 



**I fear,'* he said, ^^as lie started to inscribe his 
name, ^Hhat posterity will look at this signature and 
say, ^He hesitated/ '* 

He rested his arm a moment and then wrote his 
name at the bottom of the document with much care. 
Then, examining his penmanship, he said, with a smile : 
''That will do. If my name ever gets into history at 
all, it will be for this act. ' ' 

The news of the Emancipation Proclamation swept 
the country. By a stroke of the pen more than three 
million slaves were declared to be free. The nations of 
the_ea_rth were astounded. 

The republic was now in the worst convulsions of 
war, nearly four million Americans — boys of an 
average age of but nineteen years — wearing the blue 
and the gray, were throwing their lives into the can- 
non's mouth for the sake of whichever cause was dear 
to them. 

The stroke of war is quick and sharp, but its issue 
is variable. Now it was the day of defeat, and now 
the day of victory. The American people upheld the 
tall, lank chieftain in the White House, and, in the 
midst of their dismay, re-elected him to the highest 
honor within their gift. The day of the second inaug- 
ural was rainy and gloomy, but as the beloved son of 
the Kentucky log-cabin stood with head bared to take 
the oath of allegiance to his nation, the sun burst 
through the clouds. 

''Fellow-countrymen," began the inaugural ad- 
dress, "On the occasion corresponding to this four 
years ago, all thought was anxiously directed to an 
impending civil war. All dreaded it; all sought to 
avert it. . . . But the war came. . . . Let us judge 
not, that we be not judged. . . . Fondly do we hope, 
feverishly do we pray, that this scourge of war may 

—8— 



THE LOG-CABIN 



speedily pass away. Yet, if God will that it continue 
until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hun- 
dred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, 
and until every drop of blood drawn from the lash shall 
be paid by another drawn from the sword, as was said 
three thousand years ago, so still it must be said: ^The 
judgments of the Lord are true and righteous alto- 
gether.' With malice toward none, with charity for 
all, with firmness in the right, let us strive on to finish 
the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds ; to 
care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for 
his widow, and his orphan ; to do all which may achieve 
and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves 
and with all nations." 

There were a few brief days. The news that rang 
through the country threw a nation into rejoicing. 

^^The was is over! The nation is saved! The 
great Lee has surrendered at Appomattox ! ' ' 

Bells were pealing the glad tidings. The North 
was wild with joy. The people arose in triumph as thq 
wave of exultation swelled the hearts of a continent. 
Then, like a flash of lightning from a clear sky, came 
the news that engulfed a nation in a tidal wave of grief. 

^^The President has been assassinated!" 

All were stunned by these words, which were almost 
beyond belief. In the longed-for hour of triumph, its 
beloved leader had fallen by the hand of an assassin. 
Eage mingled with the sobs of a great people. The 
tall, lank youth from the Kentucky cabin, grown old 
with sorrows and burdens such as the world seldom 
brings to man, lay breathing his last precious moments 
away in Washington — struck down at the dawn of the 
age of peace and good-will which had so long been the 
one great desire of his heart. 

Statesmen watched at his bedside as the giant 
—9— 



HERO TALES 



strength of the man born in the woods met his last great 
battle — with death. Great generals, fresh from the 
carnage of the battle-ground, wept like children. The 
night was dismal. There was a raw, drizzling rain. 
Plour by hour the pulse of the dying man became 
weaker. It was Saturday morning — the fifteenth of 
April, in 1865. The hands of the clock pointed to 
twenty-two minutes after seven. The physician, aris- 
ing from the bedside, remarked hoarsely: 

^^The President is dead.'' 

A statesman rising and looking into the sad face of 
the great chieftain whispered : 

*^Now he belongs to the ages.'' 

And so he does — this man from the Kentucky cabin 
who had led his nation through its years of trial and 
brought it to its triumph. Grief stricken multitudes 
of more than a million people, bared their heads, their 
faces streaming with tears, as he was borne through 
the thoroughfares of the great metropolis, and carried 
to his home in Springfield, Illinois, where he had first 
gone after leaving his father's house to pass out into 
the world to try and make a living for himself. There, 
beside his old neighbors, was laid to rest the most 
beloved man in America, and with a heart big enough 
to hold the whole world — Abraham Lincoln. 



"Thy task is done; the bond are free: 
We bear thee to an honored grave, 
Whose proudest monument shall be 
The broken fetters of the slave. 

**Pure was thy life; its bloody close 

Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 
Among the noble host of those 
Who perished in the cause of Right." 



■lO— 



THE TALE OF THE STATESMAN WHO 
GAVE HIS LIFE TO A PRINCIPLE 



This is tlie tale of a boy orator 
who held his hearers spell-bound and aroused in their 
hearts the spirit of patriotism. It is the tale of his wise 
counsel in the building of the Republic, his bravery In the war 
for independence and the courageous convictions that cost hinn his life. 

THE story begins in the heated days before the 
Americans had issued to the world their 
Declaration of Independence. The spirit of 
revolt had aronsed the country. Groups of 
villagers gathered at the public meeting places and 
denounced the King. Severest condemnation was 
directed against those who refused to participate in the 
demonstrations. They were branded as *' cowards.'' 
While those who were loyal to their mother country 
retaliated with the epithet of ^^ rebels.'' 

It was the sixth day of July, in 1774. The men on 
the island of Manhattan, in the little city known as New 
York, were gathered in the northern fields of the town. 
Men with agitated gestures, expressed their opinions 
of the King, denouncing his taxation as imposition and 
tyranny. While others, with deliberation and calm- 
ness, urged them to be more considerate of the Crown, 
and advised them to be more guarded in their threats. 
* * Shall we stand by our sister colonies and demand 
justice, or shall we let England keep us shackled like 
slaves'?" 

—11— 



HERO TALES 



This was the temper of tli^ meeting. The towns- 
people gathered about the speakers as they appealed 
for their sympathies. Violence of tongue was greater 
than that of deed, however, and throughout the inter- 
rupted speeches there seemed to be no tendency toward 
decisive action. 

One by one the listeners were leaving and returning 
to their labors, and the assemblage was about to ad- 
journ. A tall, clean-cut lad of seventeen years of age, 
arose. He spoke with calmness and deliberation, but 
his words burned with honor and reason. His quiet, 
convincing manner hushed the gathering into silence. 

^^Who is this boy that has such mastery of the con- 
ditions and whose words fill our hearts with the desire 
to do great things f was the question on the minds of 
the listeners. 

The youthful orator held his hearers spell-bound. 
His patriotic eloquence kindled the fire of patriotism in 
their hearts. 

^^New York will stand with the states!'' 

This was the decision of that moment, and New York 
pledged herself to the fight for liberty. 

Soon, the rumble of the drum and the shrill of the 
fife echoed across Manhattan Island. Seated on 
horseback, at the head of a company which he had 
organized, was this same youth, now nineteen years of 
age, ready to go to war. His gallant men were soon 
sweeping on to A^^iiite Plains, and later across Long 
Island. His coolness on the battle-line attracted the 
admiration of Washington, and he was soon made a 
member of the great general's staff, following him to 
Yorktown, where he laid down his sword, after a bril- 
liant military career. 

He was now but a youth — twenty-four years of age 
— and life was just beginning for him. He studied law 

—12— 



THE STATESMAN 



so that he might better enter into the moulding of the 
policies of the new nation. These first days of the 
republic were more critical even than those of the war 
had been. At times, even brave men felt like giving 
up the whole experiment, but in the lowest moment of 
despair, the figure of this young giant of intellect and 
power arose and carried his country to triumph. He 
sat in the cabinet of Washington, the first president of 
the new republic, and framed the financial policy of the 
nation which has to-day become the strongest financial 
power in the world. He organized its banking system. 
He fought the great Jefferson in political debates 
greater even than war. The two brilliant leaders quar- 
reled incessantly. A few months later found him again 
on the battle-line in the suppression of the Whisky 
Insurrection, and later standing between the new re- 
public and France when war seemed imminent. The 
great Washington counselled with him in the prepara- 
tion of his farewell address to his people. Great politi- 
cal doctrines were absorbing the nation. With many 
of them this man could not agree, and he stood many 
times alone in upholding the principles which, accord- 
ing to his heart and reason, were the ones. 

It was early in July in 1804. The statesman who 
was in the height of his career of glory, but whose 
greatest usefulness to his nation had only just begun, 
clasped his wife to his arms and kissed her. The 
woman sobbed convulsively, but he comforted her with 
words of duty and honor, admonishing her to care for 
their beloved children. The moral heroism of this 
man had brought him into many tests of manhood, but 
this was the supreme test of all. 

The custom of the times was forcing him to fight 
against his own principles, to do that which he deplored, 
but which he believed his honor demanded. 

—13— 



HERO TALES 



The day was the eleventh of the month. The sun 
dawned warm and bright on the heights of Weehawken. 
Two boats crept along the Hudson and nestled to the 
shore. Several men landed at the foot of the ledge; 
men whose faces were familiar to the eyes of the nation 
and whose names were constantly on their lips. Two 
of the men hurried to the seclusion beneath the ledge. 
They stood for a moment facing each other. Each in 
his hand held a pistol. 

*^Are you ready T' asked a stern voice. 

**We are!" replied both men firmly. 

** Present !'' commanded the stern voice. 

The younger of the men paused an instant; took 
deliberate aim — and fired. 

The other man convulsively raised himself upon 
his toes, and fell forward upon his face, his pistol ex- 
ploding as he did so, and the bullet whizzing high 
through the foliage of the trees. 

The report of the pistol brought a doctor and sev- 
eral companions to the spot. The man who had fired 
the fatal shot was hurried to the boat. The man who 
had been wounded was lifted to a sitting posture. He 
had been struck in the right side. 

*^This is a mortal wound," he gasped and fell into 
a swoon. 

They lifted him in their arms and bore him tenderly 
to the river bank. His wandering eyes looked into 
their faces. 

* * My vision is indistinct, ' ' he whispered. 

As his eyes fell upon his pistol, he spoke excitedly. 

**Take care of that pistol," he said. **It is un- 
discharged and still cocked. It may go off and do 
harm." 

Then he turned his head to the faithful friend whq 
had acted as his second in the tragic event, 

—14-- 



THE STATESMAN 



^'He knows," he exclaimed, ''that I did not intend 
to fire!" 

He bade them to send for his wife. 

*'Let my condition be gradually broken to her; but 
— give her hopes." 

The news of the tragedy aroused the nation. 

* ' The greatest statesman of the republic is gone ! ^ ^ 
were the words that were heralded by horseman and 
stage, by messenger and neighbor, from village to 
village and house to house. Political antagonists, who 
had feared him, appeared to rejoice, but the masses of 
the people arose against them, for they were overcome 
with grief. 

Throughout the day the great statesman lingered in 
intense suffering. His wife and children were at his 
couch. Again and again, he sought consolation for 
them in his implicit faith in God, and his love for his 
fellow-men. 

* ' I want it said, ^ ^ he directed, ' ' that I had no ill-will 
against Colonel Burr. I met him with a fixed resolu- 
tion to do him no harm. I forgive all that happened." 

Then he became weaker; the pain abated. He 
clasped the hand of his wife and held it to his lips. 

''Eemember, my Eliza," he whispered. **You are 
a Christian. ' ' 

^^ Alexander Hamilton is dead!" 

The throngs that had lingered for hours about the 
bulletin-boards of the newspaper offices in the larger 
cities mingled rage and execration with grief and sobs. 
The city was not now a safe place for Aaron Burr, the 
man who had fired the fatal shot, although he fled for 
his life, never to regain his former position in the 
hearts of his countrymen. It was charged, that through 
taunts affecting his honor, he had led the great states- 
man into the duel ; that he had known that it was against 

—15— 



HERO TALES 



his principles, but that he had hounded him into the 
fatal tragedy. 

This is the story of Alexander Hamilton, the mag- 
netic boy-orator, the cavalry leader, the aide to Wash- 
ington, the secretary of his treasury, the most hated 
political rival of Jefferson in the first days of the re- 
public, and the enemy of the political doctrines repre- 
sented by Aaron Burr. It is the tale of Alexander 
Hamilton, the most brilliant statesman of his time, 
whose unselfish levotion to his country and whose 
heroism, even to the last tragic day of his life, are not 
excelled in the annals of the nations. 



"In toil he lived; in peace he died; 
When life's full cycle was complete, 
Put off his robes of power and pride, 
And laid them at his Master's feet. 

"His rest is by the storm-swept waves 

Whom life's wild tempests roughly tried. 
Whose heart was lilie the streaming caves 
Of ocean, throbbing at his side. 

"Death's cold white hand is like the snow 
Laid softly on the furrowed hill, 
It hides the broken seams below, 
And leaves the summit brighter still. 

"In vain the envious tongue upbraids; 
His name a nation's heart shall keep 
Till morning's latest sunlight fades 
On the blue tablet of the deep!" 



—16- 







THE TALE OF THE AMERICAN FLAG IN 
THE SNOWS OF CANADA 



This is the tale of the soldiers 
who carried the flag of liberty against the Gibraltar of 
the New World; who tried to plant the Stars and Stripes on 
the citadel of the great dominion. It is a tale of a man who died 
for his adopted country, but will live forever in the hearts of Americans. 

IT WAS in the years when America first became 
known as the land of opportunity. Thousands of 
courageous men were breaking their home-ties in 
the Old World and coming to the New World to 
seek fortune and happiness. Men of royal blood and 
large estates were joining the pilgrimage to the New 
America. It was the domain of the British King, and 
many of his court-favorites took up leases of land in the 
colonies across the sea. To protect their interests from 
the envy and aggression of other Old- World powers, the 
King sent his soldiers to the Western Hemisphere. 

It was a day in 1757. A ship bearing the King^s 
soldiers was coming into port. Among the brave men 
who landed from it on the new shores was a young lad, 
twenty-one years of age, with strong Irish features. In 
the north, the French were harassing the English col- 
onists. The British soldiers were hurried from their 
ship to the borders. 

On the second of June, in the following year, ten 
thousand of the King's men stood before the fortress 
at Louisburg in Canada, and stormed the . citadel. 

—17— 



HERO TALES 



Under terrific fire, fightin^surf and cannon, ship and 
army, for fifty-five days, the French stronghold was 
besieged, until the French ships were in flames or cap- 
tured, half the garrison were wounded or dead, and the 
strongest military point in America was in the hands 
of the British. 

On the British firing-line stood this young Irish lad, 
fighting with the courage and persistence which have 
made his race famous. Two years later, as the British 
stormed Montreal, this same Irish lad stood in the 
ranks. Year after year, he followed the fortunes of his 
flag in many countries, but in his heart he loved best the 
new land — America. 

^'I will give up fighting,^' he resolved, ** and go to 
America to spend the rest of my days." 

So in 1772, he sold his commission and returned to 
America. He settled on a large farm overlooking the 
Hudson, and married, leading the life of an American 
colonist. 

Three years later, when liberty was the great po- 
litical issue, this retired British soldier stood on the 
floor of the Provincial Congress in New York. His 
heart was true to the flag under which he had so gal- 
lantly fought, but he loved, too, the spirit of freedom 
which is inherent in his race. The stroke for inde- 
pendence was a daring one. The young American must 
depend upon the spirit of its cause rather than the 
strength of armies. 

^'Will you accept a commission*as brigadier-general 
in the American armyT' asked a revolutionary leader 
of this retired British soldier. 

He hesitated between love and duty. 

^'The will of any oppressed people compelled to 
choose between liberty and slavery," he exclaimed, 
**must be obeyed!" 

—18— 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 



It was now the autumn of 1775. The lines of the 
Continental army were drawn up before the great Eng- 
lish stronghold of Montreal, in an attempt to effect 
the conquest of Canada. In command of the American 
army was the British soldier, who, fifteen years before 
had stood on the same fighting-ground under the flag 
against which he now led an army, and had forced it 
to surrender to the ensign of liberty, which he was now 
carrying to victory. 

*^We have captured Montreal,'^ he said to his com- 
rades, ^*but till Quebec is taken, Canada is uncon- 
quered. ' ' 

It was then November, and the weather was very 
severe. Food and ammunition were giving out. Many 
soldiers, unwilling to face starvation, deserted. Some 
of the officers declared that not a man would ever return 
to the colonies alive. 

*^Till Quebec is taken, Canada is unconquered,'* 
was the constant retort of the undaunted general, and 
with but three hundred soldiers remaining he pushed 
on over the frozen ground and drifting snows. 

The morning of the first of December dawned. Far 
over the hills could be seen the snow-covered forms of 
moving men. Nearer and nearer they came, until they 
were within hailing distance. The shout that went up 
from the brave band of three hundred men rang through 
the snow-clad forests. Relief had come. There, before 
them, stood six himdred sturdy Americans, who 
through trackless forests and snow-bound mountains 
had marched to the rescue of the heroes of Montreal. 

The two generals clasped hands, and General 
Robert Montgomery, the hero of Montreal and the 
ex-British soldier, now the leader of the faithful three 
hundred under the flag of independence, looked into 
the face of Benedict Arnold, who with his daring six 

—19— 



HERO TALES 



hundred had performed one of the bravest marches 
in the American Eevolution. 

The entire force, now under General Montgomery, 
numbered about nine hundred. But the real effective 
strength of his army was considerably less. The ter- 
rible cold of the Canadian winter benumbed and para- 
lyzed them ; their food was insufficient ; sickness broke 
out. But worse than all — many of the discouraged 
soldiers became mutinous. The British, who were de- 
fending Quebec, were warmly housed and comfortably 
clothed. In their desperation some of the famished, 
half -frozen Americans deserted to the enemy. 

The city of Quebec looked out over the St. Lawrence 
Eiver, from its rocky, precipitous bluff — the Gibraltar 
of the Western Hemisphere. But fifteen years before, 
the British flag had been carried up the sheer walls of 
that cliff by a man who had fought side by side at 
Louisburg under the same colors with the general who 
now was to risk his life to unfurl the new American 
flag over the coveted stronghold. 

It was two o ^clock in the morning of the last day of 
1775. There was a pelting hail-storm. In the black- 
ness of the night, shielding their faces from the bitter, 
stinging hail, and holding their coat-lapels over their 
guns to keep the priming dry, the American soldiers 
moved forward. 

A volley burst from the guns of the fortification. 

* ^ Men of New York, ' ' shouted Montgomery in front 
of his troops, ^^You will not fear to follow where your 
general leads. March on, brave boys! Quebe/o Es 
ours!'* 

The echo of the artillery died away for a moment. 
The body of General Mongomery lay dead in the snow, 
the words of courage still on his lips. 

The American soldiers staggered under the terrific 
—20— 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 



fire. The artillery thundered. Benedict Arnold, lead- 
ing his division, fell wounded but held command of his 
men. 

The American soldiers, after a last desperate effort, 
fled in retreat. The British flag still waves, even to this 
day, over the citadel of Quebec, and visitors to the city 
as they drive along the river are shown the rock where 
the dauntless Montgomery attempted to plant the 
American flag when he fell on that bitter winter day in 
1775. 

The epaulets of the brigadier-general were placed 
on the daring Arnold, but far better had it been if he, 
too, had given his life on that heroic day, as years later 
found him selling his country for a mess of pottage, 
and, as he died a fugitive from his country and held in 
infamy, these words of a broken heart were on his lips : 

*^Let me die in the old uniform in which I fought 
my battles for freedom. May God forgive me for put- 
ting on any other. ' ' 



'The muffled drum's sad roll has beat 

The soldier's last tattoo! 
No more on life's parade shall meet 

That brave and fallen few. 
On Fame's eternal camping-ground 

Their silent tents are spread; 
And Glory guards, with solemn round. 

The bivouac of the dead. 

*Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone 

In deathless song shall tell, 
When many a vanished age hath flown. 

The story how ye fell; 
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, 

Nor time's remorseless doom. 
Shall dim one ray of glory's light 

That gilds your deathless tomb." 



—21— 




THE TALE OF THE INDIAN SLAVE GIRL 
WHO UNLOCKED THE NORTHWEST 



This is the tale of the Indian siave girl 
who led civilization into new and untrodden paths and 
opened to the world the wealth of the Great Northwest. It Is the 
tale of a savage mother who piloted the first white nnen across the 
continent to the Pacific and revealed to them a new world of opportunity. 

EVEN though we hear little of the lives of these 
first American women, it does not mean 
necessarily that no acts of heroism were ever 
enacted by them. Forced into the back- 
ground by their despotic masters, they had not much 
opportunity to show the nobility of their characters. 
There was one, however, whose light was too strong to 
*^be hid under a bushel.'' The achievement of this 
Indian woman has come down through the past century, 
and to-day splendid monuments are being erected to her 
memory throughout the western country. 

It was a full hundred years ago that the tribe of 
Indians, known to history as the Shoshones, made their 
home a little west of the Eocky Mountains ; or, as the 
range was called by them, the '^ Bitter Root Moun- 
tains." Here it was that Sacajawea, and her little 
friends played their childish games, with no thought of 
anything outside of their own lives. It was not always 
play-time even among those children; from infancy 
they were taught to labor with their hands, and their 
education in other respects was not neglected. At a 

99 



THE INDIAN SLAVE GIRL 



surprisingly early age, they became skilled in the use 
of the bow, and they were sent into the forest to gather 
herbs and roots, for medicine and food. 

One day, into this peaceful valley, without warning, 
the powerful Minnetarees, or Blackfeet, tribe swept 
down in battle array. Devastation followed in their 
wake. Many of the Shoshones were killed and many 
were carried away into captivity. Among the captives 
was little Sacajawea. Away over the mountains she 
was borne into the far, far east. Naturally alert and 
observing, the little maid absorbed every incident of 
this new experience, so that in after years, when trav- 
eling back over this same country, she was able to 
recognize most of the landmarks on the way. 

Sacajawea was sold as a slave when she reached 
the east. A French Canadian, named Charboneau, 
who was an Indian interpreter, bought her when she 
was only five years old. When she was fourteen he 
made her his wife, and a year later a son was born to 
her. 

It was about this time that American explorers were 
looking toward the great, mysterious region in the Far 
West. They believed that it was a land of great wealth, 
and they longed to plant the American flag on its moun- 
tains. Men called them foolhardy and said that it was 
a worthless jungle of forests and rocks and beasts; 
that it was not worth the risk of life it would take to 
survey it. 

But there were two explorers — Lewis and Clarke — 
who were willing to undertake it. Shortly after start- 
ing on their hazardous journey, they entered the little 
Indian village of Mandan. There they found Char- 
boneau, who could talk many tongues. Their eyes 
fell also upon the little Indian mother, Sacajawea. 
Charboneau told them that his Indian wife knew the 

—23— 



HERO TALES 



whole country, and was a natural guide. Sacajawea, 
in her native tongue, told them how she knew the trails ; 
how she could take them through country, never before 
traveled by the feet of white men ; and how she could 
show them the beauties of the land of her birth, with 
its towering blue mountains, capped with snow, and its 
golden valleys, its gorges and rivers, its glittering 
sands, and its thousand and one beauties that have since 
given it the name of the ^'Garden of the Gods.'' 

**We will go with you,'' said Charboneau and 
Sacajawea. 

And so it was that when that expedition, which 
opened up the western domain of America, started on 
the most perilous portion of its journey, Sacajawea was 
the guide and Charboneau the interpreter. Sacajawea 
strapped her two months' old baby on her shoulders, 
and carried him in this snug pocket throughout the en- 
tire journey. She was the only woman in the party 
and she rendered vital service to the explorers. 

Into the heart of the wilderness they plunged. When 
all signs of human life were left far behind them, and 
there were none to beckon them onward, then it was 
that the native instinct of this woman came to their 
assistance, and the great explorers were willing and 
thankful to throw themselves upon her guidance. At 
times sickness or starvation seemed imminent. Then 
Sacajawea would go into the woods, where in secret she 
gathered herbs to cure each ailment ; or dug roots, from 
which she prepared savory dishes for their meals. 

The men marveled at the courage and ingenuity of 
this faithful pilot. Burdened though she was with the 
care of the young child, she never seemed to feel fatigue. 
No complaint ever escaped her lips. Patient, plucky, 
and determined, she was a constant source of inspira- 
tion to the explorers. 

—24— 



THE INDIAN SLAVE GIRL 



The baby laughed and cooed as the wonders of the 
world were revealed to it. With all its mother's fear- 
lessness, it swung calmly on her faithful back while 
she climbed over jagged precipices and forded swiftly 
running rivers. 

One day a little incident occurred, which illustrates 
the true character of this Indian woman. While mak- 
ing their way along one of the rivers, her husband, in a 
clumsy attempt to readjust things, overturned the 
canoe containing every article necessary for the jour- 
ney. Without a moment's hesitation Sacajawea 
plunged into the river, risking her own life and that of 
the infant strapped to her. Clothing, bundles, and 
many valuable documents of the expedition were thus 
rescued. If these things had been lost, the party would 
have been obliged to retrace its steps hundreds of miles, 
in order to replace them. This is, indeed, the heroisrq 
that makes history. The alertness of Sacajawea 's 
native instinct, and her faithful kindness worked 
inestimable benefit to our nation. In gratitude for her 
great services, the explorers named after her the next 
river that they discovered. 

Some months later, scenes began to take on a 
familiar aspect to Sacajawea, and she showed signs of 
elation. She pointed out old landmarks which indi- 
cated that she was nearing her old home. They at last 
pitched their camp where years before, as a little child, 
she had been taken captive. Here she soon found old 
friends, and to her unspeakable delight she discovered 
among them her own brother. Wrapped closely in his 
arms, she sobbed out all the sorrow which had been 
bound up in her heart for so many years. From him 
she learned that all of her family had died, except two 
of her brothers and a son of her eldest sister. 

Sacajawea was at home again. Now and then little 
—25— 



HERO TALES 



snatches of songs of contentment reached the ears of 
the members of the great expedition. They might 
naturally have thought that now it would not be easy 
for the girl to attend them on their westward journey. 
But if they entertained this fear, they misjudged 
Sacajawea. She never flinched from her first intention, 
and cheerfully left her long-lost friends to plunge once 
more into the unbroken and unknown forests beyond 
the Eockies. The solitude was enough to shake a strong 
man's courage. Never a sound was to be heard except 
the dismal, distant howl of wild beasts and occasionally 
the war-cry of savages, but Sacajawea did not falter. 

Thus they plodded overland, ever westward until 
the end of the journey drew near. They made a camp 
inland, leaving Sacajawea in its protection, and then 
pushed to the coast. 

^^It is the Pacific!*' they cried at last. 

In their enthusiasm, the explorers forgot the brave 
Sacajawea. They talked of the Pacific in the camp, 
but did not allow her to go to the coast until she pleaded 
with them to let her gaze upon the waters, to behold 
which she had made the long journey. 

Then she was satisfied. She had seen the '^ great 
waters'' and the '^fish," as she called the whale which 
spouted on its heaving bosom. 

It was an epoch-making journey, in which the path 
was blazed by a woman. It rivaled the great explora- 
tions of Stanley and Livingstone in daring, and far 
exceeded them in importance. It was an expedition 
that moved the world along ; that pushed the boundary 
of the United States from the Mississippi to the Pacific ; 
that gave us the breadth of the continent from ocean to 
ocean; that command of its rivers and harbors, the 
wealth of its mountains, plains and valleys — a dominion 
vast enough for the ambitions of kings. 

—26— 




THE TALE OF THE ROUGH RIDERS WHO 
CARRIED THE FLAG TO VICTORY 



This is the tale of the Rough Riders 
and the inspiration of a man who led more than a thou- 
sand other men in a charge of triumph. It is a tale that recalls 
the ancient days of chivalry and yet so modern that he who reads 
these lines may have been one of the heroes under the Stars and Stripes. 

SPAIN, once a great world-power, and once the 
birth-place of daring and adventurous men, 
was engaged in war with a younger, but more 
powerful nation, a nation which its own genius 
had revealed to the world, the United States of Am- 
erica. The Island of Cuba, in the West Indies, long a 
Spanish dependency, was the first scene of active 
warfare. 

Traditions of Spain's unjust taxation and shocking 
cruelties had come down through the generations. The 
native Cubans had been in a state of intermittent- 
rebellion for many years, dreaming of the attainment 
of their independence — but their few volunteer patriots 
had been powerless against the trained soldiers of the 
ancient Spanish dynasty. 

The eyes of the world were on this unequal struggle. 
Appeals to Spain to be more humane and just to her 
helpless subjects were unheeded. The Cubans had 
turned with arms uplifted in supplication for assistance 
to the young republic of the Western Continent — the 
nation that little more than a hundred years before had 

—27— 



HERO TALES 



thrown off the yoke of Brinsh thraldom and unfurled 
the standard of liberty to the world. 

The yonng republic had heard the cry, and its sol- 
diers and sailors were carrying the Stars and Stripes 
to the oppressed island of the tropical seas. 

The war had continued for some time. The United 
States army, contending with strange conditions and 
pest-ridden swamps, had taken up the cause of hu- 
manity with the same spirit that had made their own 
early struggle for freedom one of the most notable in 
the annals of mankind. The unorganized patriots of 
the island had thrown the burden of the war upon the 
trained soldiers who marched under the Ensign of 
Liberty. 

It was an exceedingly hot day on the first of July, in 
1898, even for this tropical country. The American 
army of invasion stood in front of El Caney and San 
Juan. 

The soldiers had lain for hours in the fever-laden 
air of the jungle, awaiting the order to advance on 
San Juan, the key to Santiago, where the final blow 
of the war was to be struck. The tropical sun beat 
down on the regiments of restless men, willing and 
eager to unlock the strategic doors that led to the path 
to final victory or heroic defeat. 

There were the United States regulars, disciplined 
by years of training under the greatest military leaders 
of the age. There were the men recruited from the 
militia, who had heard the call to arms and had offered 
their lives to aid in freeing Cuba from Spanish 
despotism. But strangest among them was a division 
of unmounted cavalrymen, the like of whom had never 
before been seen on a battle-line. They were men not 
used to war upon mankind, but to the clearing of the 
wilderness for civilization; men who had swept the 

—28— 



THE ROUGH RIDERS 



Southwest with the lasso and driven the buffalo from 
the prairies, — whose bronzed faces spoke no fear and 
whose hearts had never known defeat, who were to 
make the desperate charge against Old Spain. These 
men, who had conquered the western hills and valleys, 
were now eager to conquer an old-world power, and to 
plant the flag of freedom on the palm-covered hills of 
unhappy Cuba. Among these ^* cow-punchers,'' 
and ^'rangers,'' were many so-called ^^ society men," 
the sons of rich Americans who had tired of the tame- 
ness of luxurious city life, and had learned to love the 
heart of the plains. 

In command, was a strong, bronzed man, whose 
personality breathed courage, and whose face was lined 
with determination. He had long known the plains, 
for he had gone to them many years before, in order 
to gain from nature its health and robustness. 

**YouVe got to perform without flinching whatever 
duty is assigned to you, regardless of its difficulty or 
danger. No matter what comes, you must not squeal ! ' ' 

These were the homely words with which he had 
inspired them until they were restless for an oppor- 
tunity for hard and daring deeds. 

At day-break, the boom of the cannon and the echo 
of the rifles along the valley, had aroused the fighting 
men. The cavalry, dismounted, had advanced up the 
valley from the hill of El Pozo, fording several streams, 
where they were under fire and lost heavily. They 
were now deployed at the foot of the series of hills 
known as San Juan, under a sharp fusilade from all 
sides, which was exceedingly effective, because the 
enemy could not be discerned, owing to the long range 
and smokeless powder. Nearer and nearer had come 
the fire until all along the line from El Caney the hot 
blaze of the Mauser bullets flashed from the trenches. 

—29— 



HERO TALES 



The commander of the force, at the foot of San Juan, 
strode np and down his line, and with a hearty ' ' Steady, 
boys," he held their eager spirits in check until the 
final command should come to charge the hill. 

The suspense of lying still under the terrific fire 
while other regiments were in action, was almost 
beyond endurance. One by one the minutes dragged 
slowly by, each one meaning another sacrifice to Spanish 
bullets. 

An officer, mounting a fiery horse, swung along the 
line and halted beside the commander. A stirring in 
the ranks of the men showed that they realized the 
import of the message. It did not need the order from 
their colonePs lips to tell them that their moment had 
come. The joy in his face told its own story. 

The command to advance ran along the line. Under 
steady formation they moved to the clearing in front 
of them. A sudden dash and they were across to the 
sheltering jungle beyond. The fire of the Spaniards 
had been accurate and several brave plainsmen never 
reached the shelter of the woods, but lay wounded or 
dead in the glare of the sun. The death of their com- 
rades only served to increase the desire of the rest to 
get close to their foes at the top of that long stretch of 
hill. The approach was commanded by a block-house 
and trenches filled with Spanish soldiers, armed with 
the most modern and deadly of guns. From their posi- 
tion on the crest of this long, steep hill, they could 
sweep the oncoming soldiers with a terrific hail of 
bullets and shell. 

All the obstacles which the ingenuity of modern war- 
fare could devise, had been thrown in their path. Now 
they were tripped and gashed by the thongs that had 
been cunningly strung along the hill. Now they were 
cutting their wav through barbed wire and over pointed 

—30— 



THE ROUGH RIDERS 



stakes. The storm of bullets was rapidly thinning 
their ranks. 

It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The brave 
plainsmen had been under fire for two hours, when, by 
slow, painful advances under withering volleys, the 
brow of the hill was reached. 

Suddenly, the heroic officer of the command, a hun- 
dred feet in advance of his men, disappeared. But 
soon he was up again and shouting harder than ever, 
as he urged his men on ! His horse had been shot from 
under him, but he had disentangled himself and was 
soon again in the midst of this rain of steel, on foot, 
cheering and waving his sword, undaunted by the loss 
which had brought him so close to death. When his 
horse had been struck, he had himself been wounded in 
the hand. He looked at it for a moment. Then, 
whipping out his handkerchief, he bound it about the 
bleeding member. Holding it up and waving it above 
his head at the soldiers, he cried : 

^'See here, boys; IVe got it, too!" 

The fire was deadly. The Americans, unable to see 
their foes, who were concealed behind the entrench- 
ments and in a blockhouse, could not return the fire. 
Some of the officers suggested that it would be well to 
fall back and leave the blockhouse in possession of the 
Spaniards. 

The commander grasped at his pistol. 

**You can fall back if you want to,'' he said, *'but 
my men will hold it till the last man dies." 

**Win or die," was the slogan that rang through 
the lines. 

The sight was magnificent. 

A yell like that of madmen ! Then the commander 
dashed into a hail of bullets, cheering as if possessed 
with demons. 

—31— 



HERO TALES 



^ * San Juan is ours ! " ^ 

The shout rang along the hills and vibrated through 
the valleys. The gallant Spaniards, losing heart at the 
sight of this courageous assault, were deserting their 
posts and fleeing down the other side of the hill. 

The door to victory was unlocked, and on the mor- 
row the last stand before Santiago would be made. 

The news of the victory swept across the island, 
bringing joy to the hearts of the struggling Cubans, who 
now saw the dawn of freedom. It thrilled the patriotic 
heart of every American as it swept through the states. 
It brought dismay to the throne of Spain. 

This is the tale of the Eoosevelt Eough Eiders. A 
sturdier body of men never followed a flag. 

This is the story of the brave deeds of Theodore 
Eoosevelt, which made him the hero of his people, and 
the memory of which raised him to the governorship of 
his state, and the vice-presidency of his nation. Thence, 
through the assassination of the good McKinley, he 
became President of the United States, and finally was 
elected to the Presidency for a second term by the 
tremendous voice of the nation. He has fought the 
subtle foes of dishonesty in high places, and the greed 
which robs the people, with even more of valor than he 
displayed on San Juan hill. 



''Glorious flag of liberty! 

Law and Love revealing, 
All the downcast turn to thee, 

For thy help appealing. 
In the front for human right, 

Flash thy stars of morning." 



■32- 



Ill 




THE TALE OF THE FIRST AMERICAN 
FLEET TO CHALLENGE THE SEAS 



This Is the tale of the Yankee ships 
that first carried the flag of liberty to the gates of 
the Old World, flaunting its warning in the face of tyranny 
and defying the strength of monarjhial power to lower the colors 
that proclainned to the world the dawn of a new age and a new people. 

IT WAS in the year of 1779. During the revolu- 
tionary war. The colonists had met with varying 
success on land, sometimes driving the English in 
utter rout, oftentimes themselves driven head- 
long from the battlefield. 

On the seas, the poor little American privateers, 
schooners and merchant ships, in fact anything that 
would float and carry a crew and a few small cannon, 
contested with the larger ships of the powerful King's 
navy, and, through the bravery of commander and 
crew, bore oif many of the British ships as prizes. 

It was the twenty-third of September. A squadron 
of ^ve small American vessels were cruising off the 
coast of England, under the flagship Bonhomme 
Richard, an old East Indiaman merchant ship, long 
since condemned as unseaworthy. The ship had been 
sold to be broken up. The Americans had obtained her 
and after patching up her rotten hulk, mounted forty 
guns and set her afloat as a ship of war. 

In the Baltic sea, the daring commander of the 
American ships, spied a fleet of British merchantmen, 

—33— 



HERO TALES 



convoyed by two new frif^ates, the Serapis and the 
Countess of Scarborough. Sails were set and the 
American ships filed away toward the English vessels. 
It was half -past seven in the evening. The Bonhomme 
Richard drew within range. Dusk was settling over 
the water. 

The American sailors, stationed at the guns behind 
the high bulwarks, and imbued with the enthusiasm 
and energy of their intrepid commander, eagerly 
awaited the order to fire. The British sailormen were 
just as anxious for the fray, believing that the worth- 
less American ships would be easy prey for their fine 
frigates. 

A flash of flame, followed by a crash, and an English 
broadside had opened the battle. Broadside after 
broadside shattered the peaceful quiet of the autumn 
night. 

Three of the American ships held off and did not 
take part in the battle, leaving the brave commander 
with his rotten ships, and one other little vessel equally 
unfit, to bear the brunt of the fearful fire of the power- 
ful British vessels. 

At almost the first broadside, the Bonhomme Rich- 
ard's eighteen-pounders burst, spreading death and 
destruction around them. Gun after gun blew up, doing 
more damage to the Americans than the English shells 
wrought. 

With her guns crippled, unable to respond with 
effect to the storm of British shot, the brave captain 
realized that his only hope of victory was to close in 
on the Serapis and grapple hand to hand with cutlass 
and pistol. 

Up in the rigging of the Bonhomme Richard were 
agile sailors, and, when the two ships came together 
with a rasping crash, they threw their grappling irons 



THE FIRST FLEET 



into the British ship's rigging and lashed the two 

^'^^SiS'riine of furious Americans, led by ^ 
doughty captain, scrambled on to the decks of the Eng- 
Hsh ship and a fearful struggle followed with pike 
cutlass and pistol. The English commander rallied 
his men. With a cheer, he drove the boarders back 
on to the deck of the sinking, shot-riddled Bonhomme 

^''^Se American ship was now in a fearful condition. 
Her rigging was hanging in bits and her hull was a 
pulp. Water was pouring in through her gashes, flood- 
ing the lower decks. The American flaghad been shot 
away, but the British colors were still flymg. 

The British captain hailed the American captain. 

"Have you struck your colors?" he.asked. 

"I have not begun to fight," was the defiant reply 

of the brave American, and with re^/^^^,^ ^''Sit 
American sailors swept over the side of the berapis, 
ruXng the British along the deck, stubbornly resistmg 
every inch, down the hatchways. 

The words of the brave commander will ever thril 
the AmeTkan, as they thrilled and inspired he- almos 
defeated American sailors in that memorable moment 
anrl sent tliem on to victory. ^ i i + 

The English, disheartened by the heroic and daunt- 
less spirit of their enemies, with achmg hearts were 
forced to pull down the King's flag ^nd suiTender. 

The havoc wrought in the action was feartul. ine 
En Jush dTcks werelittered with the bodies of the dead 
and wounded. The Bonhomme Richard was shot to 
pir her rigging was a mass of wreckage; her hull 
S r ddled like'a sieve ; her torn and gashed decks w^r 
so thickly strewn with bodies and wreckage that it was 
Sth difficulty that the sailors could find a place to walk. 



HERO TALES 



The American ship was wallowiiig about in the waves 
as the water poured through the holes in her sides. 

The captain ordered that all the wounded and 
prisoners be transferred to the captured English ship. 
A\Tien all were on board he sailed for Holland with his 
prisoners, while his own ship filled with water and 
sank to the bottom of the sea. 

It was some years later that the captain, who had 
lost his ship and won a victory, passed away in poverty 
in France. 

More than a century later, grateful citizens of the 
United States placed his remains on board a modern 
warship and conveyed them to the United States, 
where, with great military pomp they were interred in 
the National cemetery. Thus was tardy honor paid to 
the memory of the great naval hero, who when his ship 
was sinking had *'just begun to fight'' — John Paul 
Jones. 



'All honor to our flag, for which our fathers fought and died; 
On many a blood-stained battlefield, on many a gory sea, 
The flag has triumphed, ever more triumphant may it be. 
And since again, 'mid shot and shell, its folds must be unfurled, 
God grant that we may keep it unstained before the world. 
All hail the flag we love, may it victorious ever fly. 
And hats off along the line, when Freedom's flag goes by." 



—36— 




THE TALE OF THE PHYSICIAN WHO 
ADDED THREE STARS TO THE FLAG 



This is the tale of a physician 
who traveled four thousand miles through six months 
of blizzard and hunger to add three stars to the Amer- 
ican flag, who tracked his way through a savage wilderness to 
give incalculable riches, greatness and glory to the American Union. 

IT WAS not long ago — indeed, it is within the 
memory of men now living — and yet the Great 
Northwest beyond the Eockies was little known 
to the American people. That such a wilderness 
could ever become a habitable country was ridiculed by 
the public. Statesmen stood on the floor of Congress 
and declared it valueless to civilization. 

^ ^ It is not worth a pinch of snuff ! ' ^ declared one. 
*^It is useful only as a place to which rogues and 
scoundrels can be banished, ' ^ shouted another. 

^^I thank God that He made the Rocky -Mountains 
an impassable barrier to a country as irreclaimable and 
barren as the desert of Sahara, '^ exclaimed a third, 
while the great Daniel Webster was for bartering it 
away in exchange for some little Canadian fishing con- 
cession, unaware that he was trading an empire for a 
mere toy. 

It was while this discussion was agitating states- 
men, that two men from the East created a sensation 
by stating that they intended to marry and take their 
brides to this barren wilderness. The friends of the 

—37— 



HERO TALES 



brides protested, but witli^t avail, for they, too, had 
become interested in this unexplored domain, and were 
willing to cast their lot in its wilds. 

It was in 1836 when this hazardous wedding trip 
engaged the curiosity of the people. The grooms were 
a young missionary physician, named Marcus Whit- 
man, and his friend, also a missionary, the Reverend 
Henry Spaulding. Their brides were young women 
who were interested in the Christianization of the 
world, and in carrying the banner of American civiliza- 
tion to the furthest outposts of the continent. 

It was many months later when the first message 
was received from the missionaries to the Great North- 
west. It said that the bridal parties had arrived 
safely; that the new country was beautiful beyond 
compare, and abundant in its fruits and rich bounties. 
They had taught the red men of the Northwest to 
plough and plant, and three hundred acres had been 
cleared, while two hundred were already under culti- 
vation, and were planted with grains and vegetables 
and fruits. Still, practical statesmen would not believe 
that the experiment would be successful, for they were 
satisfied that no seed could be profitably grown in that 
waste and mountainous country. 

One day the young physician of the wilderness was 
ministering to the Indians and traders that had gath- 
ered at the post of the Hudson Bay Company, when he 
fell into discussion with a young Canadian priest who 
had recently come from civilization. 

'^Sir,'' said the priest, ^^lave you heard the news?'^ 

^^I have not," said the doctor; ''is it good news?" 

* ' Your country is to turn over this whole domain to 
the British government, and it is to be colonized by my 
own Canadians." 

^'Is that true?" asked the doctor, incredulously. 
—38— 



THE PHYSICIAN 



' ' I have it at first hand, ' * said the priest. * * It comes 
from those who are connected with your own govern- 
ment. The agreement is called the Ashburton Treaty. 
It is being prepared and will soon be signed." 

The doctor, who loved the American flag as he did 
life itself, passed thoughtfully along the trail to his 
forest home. The silence was broken only by the twi- 
light song of the Oregon robin and the distant howl of 
the wolf. He entered his cabin with determination in 
his face. 

^'I am going to the East," he said to his wife. **I 
must start at once ! " 

''When!" asked his wife in surprise. 
''To-morrow," he answered firmly. **My country 
is about to renounce this whole rich domain. It must 
not be. I must hurry to Washington!" 

It was on the second day of October, 1842, that 
Dr. Whitman bade good-bye to his beloved ones, and, 
with General Lovejoy and a guide, was soon scaling 
the mountain passes that led toward the Southwest. 
The heroic journey to save the Great Northwest to the 
American flag had begun. Four thousand miles and a 
long winter were before them. Tribes of hostile 
Indians drove them from their path to the south; 
packs of wolves set upon them ; hunger threatened their 
lives ; the winter storms beset them ; snow drifted, until 
mountains and passes became impassable barriers. 

One night as they traveled ceaselessly, not daring to 
lose an hour, for fear that the fatal treaty might be 
signed before the four thousand miles could be con- 
quered, a terrific snow storm fell upon them, raging 
into a blinding blizzard— and the travelers became 
totallv lost. The courageous doctor, fearing that the 
end was near, fell to his knees in the storm and prayed. 
He knew that the instinct of an animal was generally 

—39— 



HERO TALES 



safe, so lie turned loose the om pack mule. The animal 
wandered back to the camp where they had rested the 
night before. They followed him and here they waited 
until the storm was over. 

Starvation now threatened them, and the faithful 
mule was slain to keep them alive. Then famine again 
faced them, and they were forced to kill and devour the 
dog that guarded their camp while they rested at night. 

At last, General Lovejoy and the guide refused to 
go any farther. 

*'The journey is impossible," they declared. **It 
means sure death. No human being can get to "Wash- 
ington in the face of such obstacles as these.'' 

And so it was that at Fort Bent, the courageous 
doctor bade farewell to his companions, and hastened 
on into the wilderness alone. The weeks carried him 
into Utah ; then to Colorado and New Mexico and Indian 
Territory — and finally to Kansas City. 

Some days later, a man in the costume of a frontiers- 
man entered the city of St. Louis. There was a look 
of anxiety on his face, which was beaten and furrowed 
by the weather. His feet, fingers and face were frozen 
purple. 

^' Don't worry about me," he exclaimed, ^^I ask only 
one favor of you. Is the Ashburton Treaty signed! 
Can I reach Washington before Congress adjourns T' 

It was early in March of 1843. The great Daniel 
Webster was Secretary of State. President Tyler, 
surrounded by his Cabinet, was ready to sign the Ash- 
burton Treaty, when suddenly before them stood a 
strange man clothed in buckskin, his face frost-bitten — 
a veritable man of the woods. 

*^ Gentlemen, stay your hand or lose an empire," he 
cried. 

The words came like molten truth from his heart. 
—40— 



THE PHYSICIAN 



**But it lies beyond an impassable barrier,'' ven- 
tured the great Webster. 

*^Sir," replied the man who had come four thousand 
miles through six months of terrible winter to seize 
this very moment; ^^You have been deceived. I stand 
here as proof against that statement ! ' ' 

The wiseacres leaned forward, deeply impressed. 
The words of the man before them carried conviction. 

** There is no barrier there that civilization cannot 
overleap,'' he continued. ^^I have taken a wagon 
across these mountains. The natural boundaries of 
our young republic are the two mighty oceans that 
wash our shores, and over the whole domain, from the 
Atlantic to the Pacific, there should be but one flag." 

The voice of the woodsman rang true. 

*^The day will come," he said, ^ Vhen locomotives 
will cross those mountains, and the tide of civilization 
will roll over them and spread upon the golden slopes 
beyond." 

J^Sir," he explained, in closing, amid the profound 
silence of the great room. ^^Stay your hand! What 
I have told you of that wonderful country is God's 
truth. I have imperilled my life; I have come these 
four thousand miles simply to place these facts before 
you in time. All that I ask is six months to prove my 
words. Give me that time, and I will lead a colony of 
a thousand souls across those plains and through those 
mountain-gates to the paradise beyond." 

^^Dr. Whitman," said President Tyler, rising, and 
grasping his hand. **I admire your lofty patriotism 
and your dauntless spirit. Your frozen hands and feet 
attest the truth of your statements. You need no 
further credentials before this body. Your request is 
granted. Oregon is not yet ceded to Great Britain, 
and I do not think it will be. ' ' 

—41— 



HERO TALES 



It was not long after that a pilgrimage, the like of 
which America had never before seen, passed over the 
plains. Here were a thousand men and women and 
children. Grazing on the path were a thousand and 
five hundred cattle and horses. Here were prairie 
schooners laden with food and the utensils of civiliza- 
tion. The '^Westward ho!'' of brave Dr. Whitman 
had been heard by the American people. 

' ' On to Oregon ! ' ' was the cry. 

Three new stars soon shone on the American flag, 
and the untold riches of three new states increased the 
wealth of the imperial union. The heroic journey of 
Marcus Whitman had become one of the great epochal 
events of our history — four thousand miles to save the 
region west of the Rocky Mountains and to plant the 
Stars and Stripes on the Northwest Pacific forever. 



"We will make ye the mold of an empire, here in the land ye scorn. 

While ye drowse and dream in your well-housed ease, that States at 
your nod are born. 

But the while ye follow your smooth-made roads, to a fireside safe 
of fears. 

Shall come a voice from a land still young, to sing in your age- 
dulled ears 

Tlie hero song of a strife as fine as your fathers' father linew. 

When they dared the rivers of unmapped wilds at the will of a bark 
canoe— 

"The song of the deed in the doing, of the work still hot from the 

hand ; 
Of the yoke of man laid friendly-wise on the neck of a tameless 

land. 
While your merchandise is weighing, we will bit and bridle and rein 
The floods of the storm-rocked mountains and lead them down to 

the plain; 
And the foam-ribbed, dark-hued waters, tired from that mighty 

race, 
Shall lie at the feet of palm and vine and know their appointed 

place; 
And out of that subtle union, desert and mountain-flood. 
Shall be homes for a nation's choosing, where no home else had 

stood," 

10 




THE TALE OF THE VICTOR IN THE 
WORLDS DEEPEST TRAGEDY 



This is the tale of the mighty general 
who came to the rescue of his nation when it was in 
its greatest peril and led his people to triumph in the most 
terrific struggle that mankind has ever known. It is the tale of 
the world's deepest tragedy, in which brother fought brother in battle. 

IT WAS in 1861 — the year is on the lips of every 
American. The beat of the drum and the call 
of the bugle were heard in the streets of every 
American village. The tramp, tramp, tramp of 
marching men echoed along the highways, as a great, 
peace-loving people were called to the defense of their 
country. 

In the ranks of the volunteers was a man, slightly 
under the medium height, but with an impressive mili- 
tary bearing. The call of the bugle had awakened in 
him the fires of his youth, when at twenty-one years of 
age he had left West Point with a lieutenant's commis- 
sion and had followed the flag in the war against 
Mexico, where his bravery had brought him a captain's 
honors. 

These days were now long gone. He was nearing 
the age of forty, and for some years had been engaged 
in the common struggle for a living of the every-day 
American. His country's peril had again aroused him, 
and he stood in the line as a volunteer. His erect, 
military bearing, however, made him conspicuous, and 

—43— 



HERO TALES 



not many days passed befoi^ he was leading the citi- 
zen soldiers from Illinois into Kentucky. 

The fate of the nation was hanging in the balance. 
The advances of the army were repulsed by the strong 
fighting forces of their brother adversaries. The days 
were tense with excitement. There were rumors of 
severe reverses, and but little news that could bring 
hope or relief to the nation in its anxiety. 

It was in this critical hour that a message came 
from the silence of Kentucky. The day was the eighth 
of February, 1862. 

^ ^ Forts Henry and Donelson have been taken. Fif- 
teen thousand Confederate prisoners have been cap- 
tured. ' ' 

The first brilliant victory of the national arms had 
been won. A thrill passed over the country. Thousands 
of men caught the inspiration and joined the ranks of 
the volunteers. The strains of the national anthem 
were taken up along the line and new courage seemed 
to inspire the fighting forces. 

The man of military bearing, who had led his men 
to victory, bowed calmly, but spoke no word as the 
commission of major-general of volunteers was 
awarded him for his service to his country. 

The terrific combats of the armies in the East over- 
whelmed the American people and for a time little was 
heard from the quiet, broad-shouldered general who 
was sweeping the Mississippi Valley with his volun- 
teers. Then came the news : 

^^Vicksburg has fallen. The key to the South has 
been taken by storm. ' ' 

The American people were again thrilled by the 
daring of a military exploit by which forty thousand 
men had in twenty days marched one hundred and 
eighty miles with onlv ^ve days' rations, crossed the 



THE VICTOR 



Mississippi Eiver, fought and won four distinct battles, 
captured a state capital, and took over six thousand 
prisoners — all against a foe sixty thousand strong. 

The silent leader of the volunteers had now come 
again into his own. His fighting spirit had brought 
a nation's recognition, and he stood at the head of his 
columns wearing the epaulets of a major-general of the 
regular army, and commander of the combined armies 
of the West. His brave men were on the verge of star- 
vation. Not less than ten thousand horses and mules 
had perished. Undaunted, he urged his army on to 
victories, greater and more glorious than they had yet 
seen. 

*^Hold Chattanooga at all hazards,*' he telegraphed 
to one of his commanding officers. 

'^I will hold the town until we starve,'' came back 
the reply. 

Then in quick succession came the news of Chicka- 
mauga, the greatest battle in the West, and the battle 
above the clouds at Lookout Mountain, the most spec- 
tacular in history. The hearts of the American people 
throbbed in exultation. The silent man again bowed 
solemnly and spoke no word as the rank of lieutenant- 
general was bestowed upon him, and he was hailed as 
the saviour of his nation. 

It was early in March, in 1864. A rousing cheer 
went up from tens of thousands of throats as the silent 
general rode at the head of the columns against Rich- 
mond, the capital of the Confederacy. He was now in 
command of all the armies under the American flag. 

The fighting forces seemed imbued with new life. 
The strains of the **Star Spangled Banner" echoed 
through the camps. The half-starved and nearly ex- 
hausted soldiers felt the strength of some unseen 
power. Volleys of musketry thundered through the 

—45— 



HERO TALES 



battles of the Wilderness, ^d in the virgin forests of 
pine and oak nearly thirty thousand brave Americans, 
wearing the blue and the gray, gave their lives to their 
flag. More than forty-three thousand more were left, 
dead or wounded, on the field at Spottsylvania. In the 
solid mass of lead and flame in the drizzling rain at 
Cold Harbor, nearly sixteen thousand more brave men 
fell in less than twenty minutes. 

The general was stubborn and immutable. The 
destiny of two nations was on his shoulders. So com- 
pletely had the great conflict of western civilization 
centered in him that his own life was now the pivot 
upon which swung the future of a continent. It was 
during these fearful days that a message which aroused 
the fighting spirit of every soldier, passed along the 
lines. 

*'I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all 
summer. ' ' 

This determined general, in his terrible onslaughts 
against the foe, entirely forgot danger. In an attempt 
to lift the siege of Petersburg, which had been one of 
the longest and most stubborn in the annals of a nation, 
he tunneled under the Confederate lines in order to 
blow up the fortifications with a charge of eight thou- 
sand pounds of powder. It was twenty minutes before 
five on the morning of the thirtieth of July, in 1864, 
that the awful earthquake hurled the forts, with their 
men and arms, into the air. Into the smoke of the ex- 
plosion charged the faithful soldiers, streaming into 
the crater of the mine and up the slope beyond, bearing 
the Stars and Stripes. The great crater seemed to 
swallow the soldiers like the mouth of a beast. They 
cringed under the terrific fire of the foe and fell back 
dazed, line after line being mowed down by the on- 
slaught. 

—46^ 



THE VICTOR 



Somebody had not obeyed orders. The plan of 
assault had not been properly followed. The Con- 
federate batteries were firing directly into the crater 
of that pit, which had become a veritable cauldron of 
death. 

At this moment, an officer on horseback rode rapidly 
to the front and into the fire of the foe. Throwing 
himself quickly from his horse, he rushed forward into 
the choking volumes of troops that were massed for a 
charge without a leader. There was a crash of 
musketry and artillery. The officeri 'leaped to the 
parapet, stood in the front of the breastworks, and 
strode along the shot-swept front between the firing- 
lines of the two armies. It was the figure of the silent 
general. Terrible havoc had been wrought, but he had 
marshalled the fighting forces and had brought them 
under command. 

A few days later the silent general was in his head- 
quarters at City Point, just below Richmond, prepar- 
ing to make the final attack on the stronghold of the 
Confederacy and strike the decisive blow in the war. 

Boom! The air was filled with smoke and flying 
debris. The general's headquarters, which were on a 
bluif over the James Eiver, were shattered by a terrific 
explosion. Eighty men lay killed or maimed. The 
great general staggered to the open air. 

** An infernal machine," reported one of the officers. 
"It is an attempt upon the general's life. The machine 
was secreted in a ship of ammunition which lay directly 
under the bluff. ' ' 

The general listened to the report of the attack on 
his life, but made no remarks. Without his knowledge 
a body-guard was secretly organized to watch over 
him day and night. 

Nine months of the most daring warfare that man- 
—47— 



HERO TALES 



kind has ever known, now f^Jlowed. Thirty thousand 
lives were sacrificed by the Federal army in that fear- 
ful siege. It was about nine o 'clock on the morning of 
the third day of April, in 1865. 

^'Petersburg has been evacuated!'' was the news 
that thrilled the country on that Sunday morning. 

^'Eichmond is burning!" was the dispatch that 
quickly followed. 

As the Federal forces entered Eichmond, it was a 
scene of terrific splendor. The explosion of maga- 
zines caused the earth to rock and tremble as with the 
shock of an earthquake. Flames were leaping from 
building to building until thirty squares were ablaze, 
consuming over one thousand structures. Prisoners 
were liberated from the penitentiary and the torch was 
applied to it. Men, women and children, faint from 
hunger, fled from their homes. The doors of the 
provision-depots were battered down, in the wild re- 
sistance to starvation. The clatter of the horses in 
the streets, added to the tumult. 

But the fleeing army of the Confederacy was not 
now to escape. The silent general was close at their 
heels in a life-and-death race. The brave dead were 
lying in heaps along the road for seventy miles. 

It was the morning of the eighth of April, in 1865. 
The bugle sounded for the last stand. Suddenly, a 
flag of truce was unfurled to the air. A few hours 
later two of the greatest warriors that any nation has 
ever known, stood face to face, no longer enemies, but 
as arbiters of peace; one returned broken-hearted to 
private life, and the other, the volunteer general, 
Ulysses S. Grant, was carried in triumph to the capital 
of his nation, to receive twice in succession, the highest 
gift that his grateful fellow-citizens could bestow, the 
Presidency of the United States. 

—48— 




THE TALE OF THE NAVAL YOUTH 
WHO DESTROYED AN IRONCLAD 



This is the tale of a naval youth 
who deliberately plunged Into danger to save the 
navy of his country, who left his comrades to perform an 
heroic duty from which he never expected to return. It is a tale of 
a lad's willingness to sacrifice his life for the flag that waves over him. 

IT WAS in the year of 1864. The Confederate 
'* iron-clad'^ gunboat, Albemarle, had demoralized 
the Union navy with its fleet of wooden ships of 
war. The Confederate boat, lined as it was with 
iron, was practically impregnable to the shell from the 
Union ships, and conld rnn alongside of them and throw 
her terrible broadsides of steel into them, with little or 
no damage to herself. 

This condition of affairs had gone on for some time, 
and the Union officers were completely unnerved by the 
continual loss of their ships. Something had to be done 
to put a stop to the depredations of the Confederate 
boat, or else the sea would be in the control of the 
South. 

The 'Albemarle was lying in the Eoanoke River, 
about eight miles from its mouth, and protected from 
torpedo attack by sentries, who were stationed on the 
banks. On her decks, men were stationed with guns to 
repel an attack from land. Though she seemed to be 
thoroughly guarded, the Confederates did not relax 
their watch. 

—49— 



HERO TALES 



At midnight^ on the twenty-seventh of October, 
1864, two open launches, but thirty feet long, came from 
the open sea headed directly for the mouth of the river 
and its formidable defenders. The leading boat pre- 
sented a curious appearance. 

From her bow there extended a boom about fourteen 
feet long, reaching out over the water. To the end of 
this long yard was fastened a cigar-shaped object of 
steel, much in appearance like an immense rocket. In 
the rear, towed by the leading launch, was another boat 
containing a few sailor-men. The two launches plowed 
their way through the rolling waves, and under cover 
of night, rapidly approached the river's mouth, where 
despite the vigilance of the thousands of soldiers on 
shore, they soon passed the entrance, and were on their 
dangerous course up the river. The seven men in the 
little boat strained their eyes for the first sign of hos- 
tility. Absolute silence reigned over the scene. 

Suddenly, in the darkness, a big black shape rose as 
if from the bottom of the river. The little boats sheered 
off around the obstacle. It was the sunken wreck of 
the Southfieldy crowded with Confederate pickets, on 
the lookout for just such an expedition ; yet, though the 
launches passed within thirty feet of the wreck, they 
were not discovered. 

Greatly encouraged by their good fortune, the boats 
sped on up the river. The daring men were now near- 
ing their destination, the invincible iron-clad, Albe- 
marle, With tense bodies and bated breath, they 
crouched low in the launches, for just ahead of them 
could be seen the dim outlines of a large, low-lying ship 
of peculiar shape, which they knew to be the object of 
their search. 

The voices of the pickets on shore were plainly 
audible to the brave men in the boats. They felt that it 

—50— 



THE NAVAL YOUTH 



was now a question of only a few moments before their 
detection must occur. Crouching still lower in the 
drizzling rain that had just commenced to fall, the little 
band of men waited for the first shout telling of their 
discovery. 

Foot by foot they crept upon the huge vessel. 
Then out of the night there came a cry! They were 
discovered ! 

Throwing caution to the winds, they put on full 
speed and rushed at the vessel with terrific speed. They 
only hoped to reach the side of the iron-clad and place 
a torpedo and explode it before their boat should be 
blown up under them by the guns in the forts on shore 
and the cannon of the Albemarle. Another call came 
from the land, but it was unheeded by the men in the 
launch, intent only on reaching the vessel before it 
should be too late. 

Suddenly, a huge bon-fire blazed up on^ore, cast- 
ing its light over the water and throwing into bold 
relief the daring little group of men in the attacking* 
launches. In the bow of the foremost boat, with cord 
in hand, stood the heroic figure of a twenty-two-year- 
old lad, Commander William Barker Cushing, leader 
of the daring expedition. With deliberation he gave 
his orders in low tones. 

**Back,'' he cried, for just in front but a few feet 
from the prow of his little launch, floated great logs of 
cypress, chained together and held in position by booms 
from the side of the iron-clad, literally enclosing it in 
a pen. 

By this time, the guns on shore and on the Albemarle 
had opened fire, and were hurling fearful loads of 
grape and canister at the courageous men. The boats 
slowly approached the barricade in the midst of the 
terrible rain of shot and shell. Cushing closely exam- 

—51— 



HERO TALES 



ined the logs. Then the bo^ drew off into the middle 
of the stream. 

Failure? Never. The young hero did not know 
the meaning of the word. Back i^ drew for the distance 
of a hundred yards, and then for an instant the little 
boat hung motionless, as if gathering its strength for a 
desperate plunge. The soldiers on shore, curiously 
watched the movements of the daring launch, which was 
lying so calmly in the middle of the stream, in the center 
of the rain of steel, and lighted up by the glare from 
the fire on shore. Suddenly, the launch dashed forward, 
and its intent was plain to the watching men. 

*^They are going over the logs,'' was the cry. 

This was undoubtedly the intention of the cour- 
ageous young commander. Gathering speed with every 
foot it traveled, the little launch rushed at the barricade 
and met it with a crash. The logs sullenly gave way. 
The bow of the boat lifted up, the propeller thrashing 
the water furiously. Throwing their weight forward, 
the men forced the little boat over the slimy logs, and 
they were in the pen with the doomed Albemarle, 

The shock of running into the logs had greatly 
reduced the headway of the light launch, and the focus 
of all the fire from the vessel and of the men on shore, 
it slowly moved on toward the iron-clad. The little 
boat staggered as a hundred-pound charge crashed into 
its side. Another shell from the cannon struck her, 
and she careened madly, as if in agony. Men were 
dropping on all sides of the brave Gushing, as he stood 
in the bow, with the line in his hand, ready to place the 
deadly torpedo under the side of the Albemarle, The 
sailors on the Confederate ship fought madly to drive 
off these fearless men, but the launch was soon along- 
side, and the dauntless Gushing was lowering the boom 
and placing the torpedo in position. He pulled the cord 

—52-^ 



THE NAVAL YOUTH 



oft^e'trigger. A tremendous explosion swallowed np 
the noise of the Confederate guns. A dense mass of 
water shot up from the side of the stricken Albemarle, 
and fell with tremend<.us weight full upon the heroes. 
Gushing found hijiself in the river. Around him 
the water was spurting up as the enemy's bullets struck 
all around him. He dove and swam under water until 
he choked for breath, and was forced to come to the 
surface. The shot were still cutting up the water and 
Cushing dove again, and this time came up further away 
from the dangerous spot where the Albemarle sank. 

For hours he continued to swim down the river, 
greatly hampered by his water-soaked clothing, and 
with his blood nearly frozen in the cold water. Finally, 
he reached a place to land, but, utterly exhausted by his 
struggles, he was too weak to drag his weary body up 
out of the water. He lay, sunk in the mud and half 
covered with water, until daylight came. 

All day long he struggled through the terrible 
swamp, to the fleet twelve miles away. Capturing a 
skiff on the bank of the river, he paddled for ten succes- 
sive hours, without rest, until he came in sight of the 
Union picket-vessel, the Valley City. 

His faint "Ship ahoy" crossed the waters, and the 
vessel, after due precautions against a possible ruse ot 
the enemv, came to his assistance. They had feared at 
first that'he was a Confederate sailor, bent on blowing 
UP their ship. The boat of the patrol cautiously 
approached the little skiff, and found the unconscious 
body of the heroic Cushing lying prone m the bottom 
of the boat He was hurried to the patrol. When it 
became known that the daring, young commander had 
returned safely from his successful expedition, cheer 
on cheer rang from the entire Union fleet, and rockets 
were sent up to show their appreciation of his daring. 

—53— 




THE TALE OF THE MOTHER'S LOVE 
FOR THE SAKE OF HER CHILDREN 



This is tlie tale of a motlier 
wino gave her life to the savages to save her beloved ones from 
danger, who passed through a "living death" to protect them 
from harm, but whose strong faith and hope conquered the world's 
greatest grief and rose triumphant in the hour of deepest darkness. 

WOMEN are heroic by instinct. A true 
mother will die for her children, and 
thousands to-day are wearing their lives 
away for their beloved ones. Mother- 
hood in itself is heroism. Every man, and woman, and 
child, who has a good mother looks into the face of a 
heroine who has many times faced death in their behalf, 
and whose courageous heart and protecting love can 
never be surpassed even in this great world of noble 
deeds. 

In Haverhill, Massachusetts, there stands to-day, 
a monument to the memory of the first American 
mother whose heroism for the sake of her children has 
been immortalized. 

It was in the days when America was a savage land. 
The Great West was an unknown jungle of wild beasts 
and wilder men. A few brave families were scattered 
along the Atlantic coast, and while the fathers were 
felling the forests to make way for civilization, the 
women were left to guard their homes against the 
Indians. 

—54— 



1 



THE MOTHER^S LOVE 



It was the sixteenth of March, away back in 1697. 
Hannah Dustin was alone in her rude home in the 
wilderness with her seven children, and a nurse, Mary 
Neff, who was caring for the mother, and a week-old 
baby. 

Suddenly there was the weird sound of stealthy 
feet ; then the shriek of women and children ; then the 
whoop of the Indians rang through the settlement, as 
firebrand and tomahawk flashed in the light. Mothers 
grasped their little ones to their breasts and fled for 
safety, only to be stricken in death by the brutal hand 
of the savage. Women and children fell in pools of 
blood until the village was strewn with the bodies of 
forty slain. 

Thomas Dustin, the father of the seven children, 
was at work in the fields when the noise of the onslaught 
reached his ears. He threw down his implements and 
rushed to his home, thinking only of the helpless 
condition of his family and determined to take them to 
safety, if possible. Almost overcome by the danger 
that threatened them, father Dustin shouted to his 
children : 

* ' Eun to the garrison, mother will come soon. ' ' 

The little ones fled down the road in terror. He 
realized that his children were not safe on the road 
alone, but that his beloved wife, if left behind un- 
protected, would fall a victim to the cruelty of the sav- 
ages. Mother Dustin, having only the welfare of her 
family at heart, pleaded with him to go with them. 
'^ Don't wait for me," she said calmly. ** Mount the 
horse and protect the children." 

Father Dustin seized his guns and ammunition. 
Then he hesitated a moment and bade his wife goodbye, 
believing that this was the last time that he would see 
her and the tender baby that she held to her breast. 

—55— 



HERO TALES 



He mounted his horse aiM was soon in pursuit of 
his fleeing children. Down the road he overtook them, 
unharmed but bitterly frightened. He gathered them 
about him, keeping a sharp lookout upon all the ways 
of approach. They had gone quite a distance before 
there were any signs of danger. Suddenly, his heart 
stood still. The savage marauders were on his trail. 
Through the forest trees he could see them approach- 
ing and closing in upon him. 

The children clung tightly to him. His impulse was 
to take one of them and make a dash to safety, but, 
maddened with grief and hatred, he determined to save 
them all or die with them. It was the heroism of father- 
hood, as his wife's had been the heroism of motherhood. 

The desperate man fought his way down the road 
with the fury of a wild beast protecting its young. At 
last, the shelter of the garrison was reached and the 
children were safe. 

Father Dustin's only thought now was of the mother 
of the children. He left the little ones in their shelter 
and hastened back to the spot where he had said good- 
bye to his wife and babe. Alas, he was too late ! The 
home was in ruins. 

** Mother! Mother !'' he called. 

But there was no response. 

Before the echoes of the horse's hoofs had died 
away, as he had left with the children, the house had 
been surrounded by the enemy and mother Dustin 
dragged from her bed. Thinking that she would save 
her young, she pressed it to her breast. The heartless 
Indians, fearing that she might have one little source 
of comfort, snatched the infant from her arms and, 
before her eyes, threw it cruelly against a tree. Heart- 
broken and nearly crazed by grief, the mother was led 
away to leave her helpless babv to die. 

— 56— " 



THE MOTHER'S LOVE 



For days she marched northward with the Indians, 
who for some mysterious reason spared her life. 

"When she had recovered from the exhausting 
journey, she found herself, with the faithful nurse, 
Mary Neff, captive in an Indian family, consisting of 
two men, seven children and three women. With other 
white prisoners, they soon started again on a long 
march to an Indian village many miles distant. Sick- 
ening scenes of devastation and slaughter along their 
route, made their hearts bleed. Many of the captives 
dropped by the wayside, overcome by fatigue and sick- 
ness. The savages, angered by their weakness, and 
fearing that it was a white man^s scheme to escape, 
murdered them, as they fell on their hands and knees, 
begging for mercy. 

At an island, six miles above where the present 
Concord, New Hampshire, is located, the party of cap- 
tives halted. They had then journeyed one hundred 
and fifty miles. Mother Dustin and Mrs. Neff were 
the only white persons left in the party, except a young 
boy of English descent, named Samuel Leonardson, 
who had been with the Indians for a period of several 
years. Because of his extreme youth and apparent 
docility, he was regarded by the savages as harmless 
and was trusted to a very great extent. 

Mother Dustin grieved for her children. At first, 
she would sorrow openly, and at such times tomahawks 
were swung over her head and her life was threatened. 
She did not care to live, except in the hope of seeing her 
beloved ones again. 

Heroic Mother ! While her body was forced to sub- 
mission, her mind was clear and alert and she was ever 
on the watch for a means to escape. 

Her pity was directed especially to the young boy. 
She sought his company and won his confidence. She 

—57— 



HERO TALES 



learned, that, although trustec^nd well treated, he held 
a secret longing in his heart that some day he, too, 
might escape. Her motherly heart, grieving for her 
own dear children, went forth in tenderness to this 
captive lad. *^If I can do nothing else,'' she thought, 
^'I can set him free!" 

She directed Samuel to get certain information from 
their keepers in a quiet way so that he might not be 
suspected. She told him to ask where the fatal blow 
must be struck on the head with a tomahawk. This he 
did and the instruction was given without the least 
suspicion. The boy was cheered again with hopeful- 
ness and carried the news secretly to Mrs. Dustin. 

At night, when the camp-fires were glowing, sending 
the rays of their warm light into the dense blackness 
of the forest, poor mother Dustin would sit mournfully 
among the savages and hope vainly that the light and 
smoke from the fires would beckon some one to their 
rescue. Then the hopelessness of it all would dawn 
upon her, but her stout heart refused to give up its 
dream. 

**I will!'* she resolved. *^I will live and be free! 
If my dear ones are alive, I will soon be with them ! ' ' 

They had gone so far on their journey, and were so 
far away from any settlement, that the savages had no 
fear that their white captives would escape. They 
knew also that they were beyond pursuit. 

It was late at night. The warriors slept peacefully 
by the camp-fire with their weapons beside them ready 
for instant use. No guard was on duty. The camp-fire 
had died away into embers. Mother Dustin glanced 
hurriedly about her. She leaned a moment on her el- 
bow as she lay on the ground. The least sound might 
awaken the sleeping Indians and mean instant death 
for her. 

—58— 



THE MOTHER'S LOVE 



Three tomahawks lay near by. She crept to the 
side of her nurse and then to the boy and handed each 
a weapon. They understood. The stroke of freedom 
was at hand. There was not a moment to parley with 
fate. Deep sank the deadly tomahawks into the skulls 
of the slumbering warriors. Three of the savages who 
had brought so much suffering to these white people 
lay dead without a groan. Again the tomahawks fell. 
Again three bodies lay lifeless. Ten red men were 
sleeping their last sleep when mother Dustin and her 
comrades fled into the night. Ony one squaw and a 
child escaped into the forest to tell the tale of a white 
woman's revenge. 

Mother Dustin, with renewed strength and courage, 
led Mrs. Neff along the trail through the forest. The 
way was long and toilsome. Many times they were 
almost overcome with fatigue and hunger, but realizing 
that the possibility of reaching her loved ones again 
was not altogether hopeless, they fought off all hard- 
shiyjs with courageous hearts. 

A few days later there was a tremor of excitement 
in the settlement. 

''Hannah Dustin has come home!'' was the news 
that passed through the town. ' ' And she bears around 
her waist the scalps of ten red men!" 

The neighbors hailed her as though she had re- 
turned from the dead. 

She clasped her little ones in her arms and the tears 
of a mother's joy sweetened their soft cheeks as she 
poured out her love for them. 

Hannah Dustin is the first white American heroine 
to be honored by a monument ; but this honor is due to 
her memory, for her wonderful courage and ability; 
she sowed such terror in the hearts of the savages, who, 
it was said, were planning another massacre of the 

—59— 



HERO TALES 



whites, that the other membeur of the tribe feared that 
a white woman was a spirit of revenge, that would 
bring a curse upon them. 

The heroism of Hannah Dustin was the heroism of 
a mother ^s heart. And mothers' hearts are, after all, 
what the sweetness of the world is made from. There 
are many Hannah Dustins to-day, but, thanks to civili- 
zation and Christianity, the call of duty, although it is 
and always must be hard, does not often now require 
such mighty sacrifices as in those old, primitive days. 



'The wife who girds her husband's sword 

'Mid little ones who weep and wonder, 
And bravely speaks the cheering word, 

What though her heart be rent asunder, 
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear 

The bolts of death around him rattle, 
Has shed as sacred blood as e'er 

Was poured upon the field of battle. 

'The mother who conceals her grief 

While to her breast her son she presses, 
Then breathes a few words and brief, 

Kissing the patriot brow she blessed, 
With no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her, 
Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor!" 



-60— 




THE TALE OF THE GRIM FIGHTER AND 
THE THIRTY-EIGHTH PSALM 



This is tho talo of a grim fighter 
who led his men into the valley of death, and, when 
helplessly wounded, calmly sat and directed the battle. It is a 
tale of self-control and repose in the hour of affliction, in which 
the old warrior called for his Bible and died with its words on his lips. 

IT WAS in the Mohawk Valley, back in 1777. The 
Tories and Indians were devastating the homes 
of the American patriots. Down the valley swept 
St. Leger, with his strange army under the 
British flag, loyalist Tory and aborigine— 1,500 strong 
— to join forces with General Burgoyne, who was on his 
way down the Hudson from the northern lake region, 
cutting the colonial forces in halves so that each division 
could be fought separately and forced to surrender. 
A brilliant plan of warfare had been conceived. 

It was the sixth day of August. The Americans, 
who had been rallied from the farms, with a few militia- 
men, half-trained and poorly armed, were gathered 
under the command of General Nicholas Herkimer, a 
quaint Dutch-American, who some years before had 
fought himself under a British ensign against the 
French and Indians. As they moved down the valley, 
they heard the rumors of massacres, and that the Brit- 
ish were offering the Indians twenty-five dollars for 
every scalp of an American patriot that they could 
bring into camp, regardless of age or sex, 

—61-- 



HERO TALES 



The brave patriot farmers reached Whitesboro. A 
courier hurried to Fort Stanwix to notify its com- 
mander, Peter Gansevoort, of their approach and to 
summon his garrison to their relief. 

*^Fire your cannon three times,'' said the message, 
*Ho inform us when your garrison starts.'' 

The rumors of massacre lay heavily upon the mind 
of old General Herkimer. As he moved his men slowly 
down the valley, a friendly Indian brought him the 
warning that an ambush had been prepared ahead. He 
therefore called a halt. His younger lieutenants were 
impatient at their commander's conservatism, and 
intimated in their anger that he might still be friendly 
to the British King. 

The old warrior, who spoke broken English, was 
seized with rage. 

* * The blood be on your own heads, then, ' ' he shouted, 
in hardly intelligible English. ^ ' Vorwaerts. ' ' 

And on to the attack the column marched, without 
waiting for the three cannon shots from the fort, until 
they were two miles west of Oriskany and passing 
through a ravine. The advance guard was moving 
along without scouts. Suddenly, from both sides came 
the awful war-cry of the Indians, and a deadly fire from 
rifles. In front, a force of red-coated British regulars 
were massed on the firing line. The American militia- 
men fell back. The assault was one of the most atro- 
cious in the annals of warfare, the patriots being 
scalped as they took refuge behind the logs and trees. 
The rear guard was cut off and with it the supply train 
and the food. 

After the manner of men of iron-will and courage, 
old Nicholas Herkimer rallied a few straggling men, 
and stormed the hills occupied by the proud British 
rangers. A shot from a rifle went through the gen- 

—62— 



THE THIRTY-EIGHTH PSALM 



eraPs leg and his horse fell from under him, but the 
serenity of the old general was undisturbed. He or- 
dered the saddle taken off his horse and placed against 
a tree. Seated there, he calmly lit liis old black clay- 
pipe — and went on directing the battle. 

The Americans now took to the trees and other posi- 
tions of advantage, and opened warfare in true Indian 
fashion. The Indians, in their savage hunt for scalps, 
molested only those who were within easy reach. The 
Tories came hurrying on from the village, eager for the 
fray, and the sight of their neighbors in the guise of 
enemies aroused them into greater fury. Then, 
mingling with the yell of the savages, and the shrieks 
of the massacred, came the sound of three cannon shots, 
the signal for the advance of the garrison from the fort ! 

But old Herkimer still sat beneath his tree, calmly 
smoking. Watching the battle as best he could from 
his post, he witnessed the varying fortunes of that 
awful combat; directing assistance first to one part, 
then to another. Grim, determined, sputtering in his 
native German and again in English, hard to under- 
stand, he gave his orders with composure and courage. 
One of the young American officers, who had forced the 
battle, was dead ; another was desperately wounded. 

^*Your wound. General?" inquired a young officer, 
coming up for orders. 

^^Aich, 'sist nichts," he growled, and, then remem- 
bering that his aid could not understand, he shouted, 
* * Notting, I tell you ; yust notting ! ' ' 

Then pulling away at his pipe, he ordered : * *I mean 
take dat lot of fellows from behind dat rock dere and 
order dem up on de right vere dem red coats is making 
such troubles for 'em." 

But the gathering lines in the old general's face told 
their own sad story. The wound in his leg was slowly 

—63— 



HERO TALES 



sapping his life away. ForiRx hours the brave old 
man sat there beneath his tree on his saddle, cheering 
on the stricken forces. 

A shout went up from the battlefield. The smoke 
cleared away. Over the hills the Indians and Tories 
were fleeing in terror. The Americans held the field. 
St. Leger, and his warfare of horror against women 
and babies was meeting his first stubborn resistance. 

*^ Thank Got," muttered the iron-hearted Nicholas 
Herkimer, as he was carefully lifted by his soldiers and 
carried to his home, thirty-five miles away. 

^^Your leg must be amputated," remarked the 
surgeon. 

It was before the days of modern anesthesia for 
lessening pain. The old general called for his pipe and 
puffed great clouds of gray smoke as the wounded leg 
was removed. Ten days later, a hemorrhage issued 
from the unhealed limlD. The old warrior had seen 
death too often to fear it among his family and friends. 
As his life ebbed away, he gathered his beloved ones 
about him and called for the family Bible. Opening it, 
he turned to the thirty-eighth psalm : 

^^0 Lord, rebuke me not in thy wrath, neither 
chasten me in thy hot displeasure — for mine iniquities 
are gone over my head ; as an heavy burden they are too 
heavy for me — I am feeble and sore-broken — Lord, all 
my desire is before thee and my groaning is not hid 
from thee ; my heart panteth, my strength . ' ' 

The voice grew slower, weakened, and then ceased. 
Nicholas Herkimer was with the greater army in the 
beyond — the soldiers of eternity. On the ground where 
he fought so valiantly for liberty, now stands his monu- 
ment. There he sits in bronze, pipe in hand, his right 
arm stretched out in command, pointing the way to vic- 
tory as he did on that memorable day in 1777. 

—64— 



#m 



1^; 






'^^«^^ 



mmi 




THE TALE OF THE GREEN MOUNTAIN 
BOYS WHO OVERPOWERED A FORT 



This is tlie tale of a mountaineer 
who led his connrades against a British stronghold 
under the darkness of night and forced thenn to surrender 
without firing a shot. It is a tale of victory in war without the 
clash of steel or the flanne of a gun, a tale of overwhelming courage. 

IT WAS in the years when King George of England 
rnled over the American colonies. The people of 
New York were in dispute with the people of New 
Hampshire over the boundary line. The matter 
had been referred to the King and he had decided in 
favor of New York. The boundary war waged for 
years, the people of New York trying in vain to eject 
the New Hampshire settlers, until the irate Governor 
Tryon offered a reward of one hundred and fifty 
pounds, the currency of those times, for the capture of 
the leader of the settlers, who called themselves the 
*^ Green Mountain Boys.'' 

This mountaineer captain was a giant in strength, 
tall, and strong as a lion. 

*^I'll give fifty pounds,'' he retaliated when he 
heard of the price on his head, **for the capture of 
Governor Tryon." 

The dispute was reaching a crisis, when word of 
the battle of Lexington came to the mountaineers, the 
forerunner of the great struggle for American inde- 
pendence. Immediately discarding their private quar- 

—65— 



HERO TALES 



rel, the ^^ Green Mountain B^^s^' armed and prepared 
to take up the common cause of their country. 

On the shores of Lake George, the present boundary- 
line between New York and New England, was situated 
the fort of Ticonderoga, garrisoned by English soldiers. 
The colonists were in need of ammunition. The daring- 
leader of the ''Green Mountain Boys'' determined to 
capture the fort and its great store of powder and 
arms. 

It was in the year 1775. They had reached the 
shores of Lake George and were about to cross the lake 
to attack the fort. An officer, on horseback, galloped 
from the woods into the ranks of the raiders. 

''I have been appointed by the Governor of Massa- 
chusetts to command this expedition, ' ' he announced. 

''We are able to command our own expedition," 
replied the raiders, and, loyal to their gallant young 
giant who led them, the "Green Mountain Boys" re- 
fused to obey the new commander, and pushed on 
across the lake to attack the English. 

On the morning of the tenth of May, there was a 
gray mist rising from the lake, as the ' ' Green Mountain 
Boys" approached the fort. Up the hill they crept. 
They could see, over the crest of the hill, the English 
flag bravely flying. 

In the lead of the courageous patriots, was the 
young giant. Along the line of eighty-three men, 
passed the low- toned order, "Advance." 

With a rush, they had crossed the intervening space 
and stood before the gate of the fort. A sentry in a 
sally-port snapped his musket at the invaders and 
turned and fled. 

The gate flew back with a crash, and the patriots 
dashed into the fort. Far in advance was the young 
giant, rushing for the commanding officer's quarters. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 



Meeting with but feeble resistance from the terrified 
British, he reached the door. Flinging it wide open, 
he cried: * ^ Surrender/ ' 

^^By whose authority?'^ stammered the dazed of- 
ficer, springing up from his seat. 

**In the name of the Great Jehovah and the Conti- 
nental Congress,'^ thundered the leader of the *' Green 
Mountain Boys.'* 

The surprised officer could scarcely believe his ears, 
but the ^' Green Mountain Boys" crowded into the 
room, and he surrendered the fort and his sword. 

The daring young American giant, and his band of 
mountaineers, had surprised and captured the fort 
without firing a single shot. They found large quan- 
tities of powder, shot and arms, which the colonists 
needed sorely. They also gained the key to the secret 
route to and from Canada, which was later to become 
a factor in the long war. 

The daring of the ' ' Green Mountain Boys ' ' startled 
the British and thrilled the Americans. Their com- 
mander was sent to Canada on a dangerous mission, 
requiring great courage and judgment, and while en- 
gaged in an attempt to take Montreal, he was captured 
and sent to England as a prisoner of war. He was 
later returned to this country and allowed his liberty 
on parole. After the conclusion of the war, he re- 
turned to his native state. 

Generous and frank, loyal to his country and true 
to his friends, he exerted a powerful influence on the 
early history of the great Commonwealth of Vermont, 
and helped to make it the rich and independent state 
that it is to-day — this young giant of brawn and brain, 
Ethan Allen. 



-^7— 



THE TALE OF THE VIRGINIAN WHO 
HEARD THE CALL OF HIS HOME-LAND 



This is the tale of a Virginian 
who was forced to choose between his home and his country 
—and chose his home. It is the tale of a great heart and a clear 
conscience that rose above defeat and crowned him with a nobility 
of character greater than the victories of war—the triumph of peace. 

IT WAS down in old Virginia, on the nineteenth day 
of January in the year 1807. The old Southern 
plantation was full of joy. The negroes came 
running from the cabin to the old manor-house, 
and gathered about the door, bringing gifts of cakes 
and trinkets. 

**Dey's a new massa on de plantation.'* Their 
voices echoed from cabin to cabin. ^'He was done b'on 
dis mornin'." 

In the mansion, an old black mammy crooned to a 
little child in her arms, while the banjoes twanged from 
the cabins and negro melodies floated out on the cool, 
winter air. 

The heir of the plantation was a handsome lad, in 
whose veins flowed the blood of generations of states- 
men and warriors, who had helped to lay the foundation 
upon which the nation is built. The master of the 
plantation, the father of the lad, was a patriot in whose 
heart there still burned the fires of 1776. In the 
American Eevolution, he had been a bold and dashing 
horseman under the flag of Independence. 

—68— 



THE VIRGINIAN 



The years naturally found him following in the foot- 
steps of his fathers, and, at eighteen years of age, he 
stood in the ranks at West Point wearing the coat of 
blue. He was a manly fellow, erect and stately in figure, 
with a face so open and frank that it won the admiration 
of both cadets and officers. His soldierly bearing and 
high sense of honor brought him .rapid promotion 
through the various grades, until at his graduation he 
was adjutant of the corps. As the years passed, little 
was heard of the men who were serving their country. 
It was enjoying the blessings of peace. 

The war with Mexico broke the long silence. The 
ancient civilization of the Spanish resented the trend 
of American progress. The moment for the ** survival 
of the fittest'^ had come. Under the Stars and Stripes 
of the republic, on the battle-ground of two civiliza- 
tions, stood the heir of that old Southern plantation, 
now a man of mature years, defending the flag that he 
loved. Side by side with comrades, whom, in later 
years, fate was to make his foes, he fought gallantly 
for his country. The honors of the army were bestowed 
upon him, and he rose to the rank of colonel. 

Shortly after the close of the war, he was chosen as 
the best-fitted man in the army for the superintendency 
of the United States Military Academy at West Point. 
Then there came to him the appointment of lieutenant- 
colonel of cavalry — an honor which pleased him more 
than all others, for his father during the American 
Eevolution had been known as ^^ Light Horse Harry," 
because of his unexcelled horsemanship, in command of 
the troopers under the flag of Liberty. 

These were the days when the American Indians 
were stubbornly resisting the invasion of the white man 
on the Western frontier. In command of his cavalry, 
the lieutenant-colonel from West Point swept into the 

—69— 



Hero tales 



great West and pushed forwslPi the outposts of civili- 
zation. Military honors were coming rapidly to the 
brilliant cavalry leader. 

Then came the terrible Civil War. The nation was 
rent asunder. The great North stood arrayed against 
the magnificent South. The American people were 
divided so hopelessly that only a conquest for su- 
premacy could ever restore peace. The nation called 
to her sons, and the officer from West Point heard the 
call. The honors of the army were his. He could now 
lead his regiments into battle under the flag of the 
country for which he had so long fought and which his 
fathers established. It was the moment of opportunity 
for which military ambition had so long dreamed — to 
carry the Stars and Stripes to glorious triumph. 

But his heart grew heavy with sadness. Who was 
the foe I Against whom was he to lead his army? 
What was the land which he must invade with a rain 
of fire and shell 1 Who were these people who were to 
fall under his onslaught 1 

The soldier bowed his head. For many days he was 
silent. A great grief seemed to be upon his heart. 

**I cannot do it/' he said. '*I must resign from the 
army. I cannot lead an army against my own people, 
when I believe they are right.'' 

Then another call came to him. It was the pleading 
voice of the South — his home-land. Its plaintive tones 
rang in his ears and swelled in his breast. His beloved 
ones needed him. They were in imminent peril ; their 
lives and homes were threatened. They must defend 
themselves — and they wanted the heir of that old 
Southern plantation to come to them. 

^'I must stand with the beliefs and the traditions of 
my home and state," he decided. ''This is my first 
duty, even though it opposes my country." 

—70— 



THE VIRGINIAN 



He manfully informed his Government of his de- 
cision, and, resigning his commission in the United 
States army, he went home. The people of his state 
greeted him as their savior. Cheers rang in his ears 
as he passed through the Commonwealth of his nativity. 
He had made the greatest sacrifice that man could ever 
be called to make, and his kindly face was lined with 
sadness. 

The great war broke upon his beloved home-land. 
In the fighting regiments, rode the stately commander 
from West Point, now in the uniform of the gray, and 
under the new flag of the Stars and Bars. The tumult 
swept the land. The two greatest fighting forces that 
were ever arrayed on earth were now in mortal combat. 
The unconquerable courage of the man from West 
Point inspired his people, and, after the battle of Seven 
Pines, he was placed in command of the Army of Vir- 
ginia, the pride of the Confederacy. The North now 
knew that it was pitted against the fairest and most 
courageous fighter that a government could ever meet ; 
a man who could grasp situations, who could plan cam- 
paigns, and above all who knew the human side of war 
and inspired men with his manhood. 

It was in the early days of June, in 1862. The 
Federal troopers were threatening Richmond, the 
capital of the Confederacy. The defenders of the city 
were terror-stricken. In a tent, gathered about a table, 
the officers were figuring with pencil and paper, showing 
how the Federals might advance and take the capital. 

' ' Stop ! ' ^ ordered the general. If you go to cipher- 
ing, we are whipped before we begin ! ' ' 

He ordered the construction of earth-works. Gruns 
were placed in position. Then he calmly awaited the 
attack of a greater force of men than his own. On came 
the Union army. For seven long davs of fearful 

—71— 



HERO TALES 



Carnage the brave Confeder^es held their position. 
Often in the forefront of the battle, the general urged 
his men on. Time and again, he attempted to ride to 
the front and lead the attacks in person, but his soldiers, 
knowing the value of his military genius to their cause, 
would grasp the bridle-rein of his horse and refuse to 
go forward themselves if the general did not retire. 
The Federals were repulsed and swept with an ir- 
resistible rush back to the James Eiver, and even to the 
very capitol at Washington, which trembled under the 
mighty leadership of the besieging Confederate. 

Now the nation was alarmed. The Government was 
threatened. The enemy were knocking at the gates of 
the great capital. Then the tide of war turned and the 
invaders were swept back into the valley of Virginia 
to the defense of their own Eichmond. In victory, the 
great commander of the army in gray showered the 
credit on his soldiers ; in defeat, he took the blame on 
himself. The long, weary years of warfare stretched 
on. Both of the American armies seemed to be un- 
conquerable, until the great resources of the federal 
government began to slowly overpower the Con- 
federates, who, worn out by the battle against over- 
whelming odds took their last stand in defense of the 
capital of the Confederacy. As the Federal army had 
been when forced to defend Washington, the condition 
of the Confederate soldiers was now pitiful. Thousands 
were without shoes ; thousands, with but fragments to 
cover their feet, and all without overcoats and blankets 
or warm clothing ; but they lay in the trenches at Rich- 
mond awaiting the final assault with an undaunted 
spirit, willing to be annihilated rather than surrender. 

Day and night for months, an incessant fire rained 
down upon them, but their loyalty to their general 
never failed during that dismal winter. Snow, hail, 

—72— 



THE VIRGINIAN 



rain, wind, cannon-fire, starvation, — they bore them 
all. 

Then came the end. Human endurance had reached 
its limit. They must flee from their beloved Richmond 
to save their lives. But they would destroy the capital 
of their lost cause with their own hands, rather than 
leave it to the invaders. Flames enveloped the mag- 
nificent Southern city. The fearless remnant of the 
warriors in gray, under the guidance of their inspiring 
general, fled into the valley, fighting as they went, and 
leaving their dead behind them, until the great com- 
mander^ s heart would no longer allow him to lead them 
on to annihilation. 

The sun fell upon Appomattox Court-house. Be- 
fore the great general of the Americans in blue, stood 
the white-haired, kindly-faced warrior of the Americans 
in gray — noble in surrender as he had been in the days 
of triumph. His head bent, he offered his sword to his 
victor, with resignation to the inevitable imprinted 
upon his face. The gallant general of the blue looked 
upon the face of the man in gray, with whom he had 
fought in years gone by, under the same flag in Mexico 
— and returned the sword, with a grace that touched 
the manhood of the nation. 

The great commander in blue rode from the field in 
triumph. The commander in gray turned to look for 
the last time upon his men. His soldiers understood the 
meaning of it all to his grief -burdened heart. Gather- 
ing at his side, they pressed his hand, stroked his cloth- 
ing, and caressed his horse. The great commander 
raised his hat and stood before them. 

*^Men,'' he said, his voice gentle as of old, ^*we 
have fought through the war together. I have done my 
best for you. My heart is too full to say more. ' ' 

The war was over. The dawn of Peace cast its 
—73— 



HERO TALES 



radiance over tlie land. Two great fighting armies be- 
came one powerful working force for civilization under 
the same flag. Never before in the history of the world 
have a people been re-nnited, after dissension, into 
such a brotherhood. 

In the beautiful little village of Lexington, in the 
hills of Eockbridge County in Virginia, is a university, 
which for generations has moulded the manhood and 
character of the sons of the South, disseminating its 
culture and learning throughout the nation. This noble 
institution opened its arms to the great commander in 
his hour of deepest affliction and bestowed upon him 
the presidency of the Washington and Lee University. 
This was the first ray of light that came to the man who 
had *^done his best" for his people. And here, in the 
love and respect of his own, he passed the last years of 
his life, instilling nobility and patriotic inspiration into 
the hearts and minds of the youth of the South, for in 
his own heart there was no malice. 

In this magnificent environment, the great warrior 
passed his last days. Then came his last great battle 
with the world, — but he did not care to win. 

^^It is of no use," he said, shaking his head feebly, 
as he lay on his death-bed. He neither expected nor 
desired to recover. As he lay in his darkened room, 
the hearth-fire cast its flickering shadows upon his calm, 
noble face. In his last moments he lived over again, 
in delirium, the fearful days of war! he led his army 
into battle ; he called to his soldiers. 

^^Tell Hill he must come up," he ordered, and fell 
into his last repose — and oh, what a glorious rest it is ! 

This, then is the tale of a man who was as noble in 
defeat as he was in victory — a man whose resignation 
in failure is a lesson to all Americans — General Eobert 
E. Lee. 

—74— 




THE TALE OF THE PRIEST AND CROSS 
THAT SAVED HALF A CONTINENT 



This is tile tale of a priest 
who did unto others as he would have them do unto him; 
who went into the American wilderness in its savage days 
to carry the cross of the Golden Rule in the mad conquest of the 
Continent, when civilization was in desperate combat with the Red Man. 

IT WAS in 1849. The greed for gold had seized 
the hearts of the people, and they were willing to 
pay their lives to gain it. 
*^0n to the gold fields!" 
The cry swept across the continent. Thousands of 
daring men defied fate in the struggle for riches. From 
California along the coast to the wilds of British 
Columbia, a mighty nation was fighting the battle of 
avarice. 

In this mad rush into danger, there was one pilgrim 
whose mission was neither greed nor gold. He was a 
youth of twenty-two, but he was called Father Lacombe. 
About him clung a black robe; around his neck was a 
cross, bearing the figure of the Crucified Christ ; while 
on his lips were prayers for the safety of the dear ones 
at home, and appeals to God to teach men that the way 
to happiness is not through wealth, but in the peace of 
a clear conscience. 

'^My children need me,'' he said. *^My duty lies 
in the wilderness where God calls me." 

As he journeyed, he came one night to a little village 
—75— 



HERO TALES 



on the Mississippi Eiver. ^t contained twenty-five 
crude huts, and here Father Lacombe said mass. 
That little village to-day is the great city of St. Paul. 
The but^alo then roamed the prairies in countless herds. 
But it was with men that the brave and true priest had 
to do. ' ' Crees, '' '' Bloods, '' '' Blackf eet, '' '' Crows, ' '— 
from all over the United States, had caught the spirit 
of greed and had entered the contest for the possession 
of the great western empire. All were the ^* children" 
of Father Lacombe; all the object of his tender care. 
Throughout the strife of mankind and the clash of the 
races, the young priest traveled unharmed over thou- 
sands of miles of wilderness, where, at certain times, 
death would have been the sure fate of any man except 
the saintly figure of a priest. It was a priest, who, 
forty years later, after the dreadful massacre of 
General Custer and his troopers of the Seventh United 
States Cavalry, built a cross of rough wood, painted it 
white, fastened it to his buckboard, and, driving onto 
the battlefield, planted it among the dying soldiers. 

Father Lacombe was beloved by savages and civ- 
ilized men alike. He learned from the Indians their 
tongue, and ministered to their needs, journeying over 
a half million square miles of the continent, and always 
stopping to speak a word of good will to every man that 
he met. 

One night, he was camping in the interminable 
snow, with his guide, on the edge of a small copse in 
the far north. The sky grew black, foreboding storm. 
They were eighty miles from a living soul, in the midst 
of the awful silence of the terrible Arctic cold. The 
snapping of the fagots, or an occasional splinter of 
frost-cracked trees, was all that broke the stillness. 
Suddenly, the guide sprang to his feet. A voice ! A 
muffled wail ! Then out of the woods there came a call. 

—76— 



THE PRIEST 



**Alex, do you hear?" said the priest. 

^^It's only a hare seized by an owl," responded the 
guide. 

He drew his blanket tightly around him. 

^^It may be the voice of some brave buried among 
the branches of trees, calling for something his family 
neglected to place with his corpse," he remarked, as 
he curled himself upon the ground. *^To follow that 
voice means sure death." 

*^It is the voice of some one in distress," exclaimed 
the priest. **I shall go and see who it is." 

Father Lacombe faced the dark night. 

^^ Who's there!" he called. 

*^A woman lost with her child," came the reply, in 
the Cree tongue. And, indeed, only a short distance 
away, the good priest discovered a human form, 
wrapped in a buffalo robe, and lying across the embers 
of a dying camp-fire. She had been terribly beaten 
by her Indian husband and had gone forth from the 
camp to slay her babe and herself, but the child's cry 
had appealed to her mother-heart, and had stayed her 
hand. She had tramped on till her frozen feet could 
carry her no farther. Wrapping the little one in her 
warmest clothing, she had taken it in her arms, spread 
the robe over them and lain down to await the end. 

When morning came, the guide and the dogs were 
fastened to the sleigh, and, with Father Lacombe push- 
ing behind, they started with the poor Indian mother 
for the mission house, hundreds of miles away. Upon 
their arrival there it was necessary to amputate her 
feet to save her life. 

On the way, they met the Cree husband of the Indian 
mother. 

'*Me 10 want this wife! Mind own business. Let 
her die alone," he blustered. 

—77— 



HERO TALES 



The good, red blood of manhood in Father La- 
combe's veins was aroused, and he made a vigorous 
stroke at the savage. 

*^You miserable beast!'' thundered the good priest. 
**You don't care as much for your child as a dog for its 
pups. Go and hide your contemptible head!" 

As the years passed. Father Lacombe became the 
trusted friend of the American Indians. His affection 
for ^'Old Crowfoot," one of the last of the mighty 
barbaric monarchs of the Great Northwest, was heroic. 
Between them, these two men controlled the peace of a 
territory as large as that of many a great empire. 
Together they shared dreadful privations and endured 
frightful winters and storms. Side by side they passed 
through savage battles in respect and love. So deep 
had become Father Lacombe 's affection for the red 
men that he offered his life to protect them from the 
white man's brutal intrusion. 

He feared that the sins of the white man would be 
implanted in the wild blood of the Indian and he labored 
to shield him from that fate. 

One day the news came that a railroad was to 
penetrate the wilderness. Father Lacombe knew its 
meaning. He hurried to the Indians on their reserva- 
tion and called together the leaders. 

**In a month," he said gently, in their native tongue, 
*'the white man will be here with his railroad. With 
him he will bring many who are wicked and soulless. 
And he will bring whisky, disease and pitiful degra- 
dation. ' ' 

The Indians smoked in silence, and then old Crow- 
foot spoke: 

^^We have listened," he said. ^'We will not go to 
the railroad." 

But, alas, for the pure-hearted priest, and the wise, 
^78^ 



THE PRIEST 



brave, old chief ! The buffalo were gone and food was 
scarce ; the money of the white man and his infamous 
whisky were stronger than the counsel of religion or 
wisdom; soon the tepees of the Indians were pitched 
beside the railroad construction-camps and the end of 
their race had begun. 

Not only this — but the plagues of the white man 
were upon them. Father Lacombe found himself, with 
three thousand about him, dying and dead, of small- 
pox ; men fleeing from camp, pursued by the phantom 
of death; wolves skulking unmolested past the wind- 
blown tent-flaps ; no one remaining to bury the dead. 

It was some years later, when he was sitting one 
night with Sun Chief in one of the Blackfoot camps. 
It was in bitter December weather. A fierce gale was 
abroad ; fires were piled high ; tents were braced against 
the gale, and four hundred horses were sheltered and 
tethered to keep them from driving before the fierce 
wind. Midnight came and only the fire in Sun Chief's 
tent was still ablaze. Suddenly, out of the black night, 
came a volley of rifle shots and the fierce, blood-chilling 
yells of the Crees. Sun Chief's tent, a good mark in 
the dim light, was the principal point of attack. Tear- 
ing open the flap, he hurled his family into the darkness 
to flee for life. Father Lacombe seized his cross. 

''Stand your ground! Fight, my children!'' he 
cried. ''If you run, they will shoot you down. For- 
ward, my braves! Fight for your wives and your 
children ! ' ' 

The battle raged fiercely. The truth of it all 
dawned upon the priest. If the Crees should succeed 
in destroying the Blackfoot camp, every mission and 
every post between the Missouri Eiver and the Mac- 
kenzie, two thousand miles north, would be wiped from 
existence and the work of civilization for a century 

—79— 



HERO TALES 



defeated. Father Lacombe^pas the friend of the Cree 
and Blackf oot alike. Had he not helped the Cree when 
the scourge of small-pox was upon him*? Instantly he 
rushed forward and stood in the dying light of the camp- 
fire. In his right hand he held a cross ; in his left a flag. 

^ ^ It is I, Father Lacombe, your friend ! ' ' he shouted. 
But storm and rifle shot, screams of women and chil- 
dren, the stampeding of horses and the yells of the 
battle, the groans of wounded and dying — drowned that 
blessed voice. 

The Blackf oot warriors stood like heroes, following 
the priest's cheers and counsel. Three times the Crees 
attacked them and fell back. The storm that had 
drowned the priest's voice now helped to obscure the 
weakness of the defenders. He stepped into the night. 
His red comrades called him back, but it was too late. 
Suddenly, in the half light, he was seen to fall. Demons 
could not now restrain the Blackfoot. No longer on 
the defensive, they rushed to the attack, a whirlwind 
of rage driving them on. With yells of fury, they 
poured volley after volley into the Crees, rushing them 
madly from snow-drift to snow-drift, hurling them 
back in amazement and fear. A Cree advanced to 
parley. The face that stood before him was that of 
Father Lacombe, and the warriors withdrew into the 
forests. 

The victory was won ! Father Lacombe was alive, 
bearing the wound of a glancing bullet on the shoulder 
and forehead. The man, who, by the lifting of his hand 
had prevented a massacre that might have wiped out 
the frontier of half a continent, stood with cross and 
prayer-book still in hand, his limbs exposed in the 
frozen storm and only a soutane coat thrown over his 
shoulder. He had been robbed of his robes, but the 
Great Northwest had been saved. 

—80— 



THE TALE OF THE VALIANT CAVALIER 
WHO WOULD NOT SURRENDER 



This is the tale of a cavalry leader 
who refused to haul down the flag that he loved, even when 
his eyes rested on defeat, and who, when vanquished, withdrew 
his thousand horsemen on retreat through the lines of the enemy," 
under cover of the night, without losing a man from his daring cavalcade. 

THE gigantic struggle between the North and the 
South was bewildering the nations. The 
advantage seemed to be going to the stronger 
side, though neither was gaining a decided 
victory. Even a great and powerful government 
seemed unable to suppress the uprising of its own sons. 
The world had found that when Americans meet in 
combat over a principle, it is a fight to the death. 

The hour of the first turning-point had now come. 
The day was the fifteenth of February, 1862. The 
American army in blue, with twenty-seven thousand 
men, outnumbering the army in gray nearly two to one, 
stood before Fort Donelson, down in Tennessee, wait- 
ing the order to advance. 

It was four o 'clock in the morning. Far down the 
road moved more than a thousand horsemen — the 
flower of the Confederate cavalry — under the command 
of an intrepid leader, who rode his charger with the 
swaying grace of a man of the plains. 

At the break of dawn an outpost brought this mes- 
sage into camp : 

—81— 



HERO TALES 



**Tlie enemy is approachklg. The daring South- 
erners are charging npon us with their cavalry. ' ' 

Along the road advanced the brave thirteen hun- 
dred against the mighty army in blue. It was six 
o^clock when the foaming horses drew into sight. On 
they came, as though unaware that an enemy existed in 
the world, until they were passing the Federal outposts. 

A volley of musketry flashed in their faces. 

^ * Charge ! ! " cried the cavalry leader. 

The horses plunged at the breastworks. The com- 
bat was sharp and fierce, hand to hand. The resistance 
was as stubborn as the attack was gallant. Many of 
the Southerners were armed only with shot-guns and 
squirrel-rifles, and pressed close to the Federal lines 
in order that their weapons might prove effective. For 
more than two hours they fought. The Confederate 
cavalry, apparently unconquerable, slowly began to 
gain ground. Little by little, the troops in blue were 
forced to drop back, bitterly contending every step of 
the way. And as slowly and surely the horsemen in 
gray were pushing forward. At the head of his men, 
pistol in hand, the Confederate cavalry leader fought 
his way close to the Federal intrenchments, and by the 
force of his inspiration led his men on to accomplish 
the seemingly impossible. 

Alarmed by the fierceness of the onslaught, and 
overestimating the strength of the charging forces, the 
Federal commander sent an urgent call to headquarters 
for reinforcements. The blue brigade made a gallant 
fight, but the alert horsemen in gray had pushed a 
detachment around their right flank, and to their rear. 
The fire was staggering the Federals. They seemed to 
waver. 

''Charge!'' shouted the Confederate leader. 

Straight for the Union lines the foam-flecked 
—82— 



THE CAVALIER 



horses plunged. Panic seized the men in blue. Close 
after the fleeing soldiers the Confederate cavalry 
rushed, riding down the gunners of one of the Union 
batteries and capturing the cannon. Leaving a small 
band to take it from the field, they pressed on after 
the retreating forces. 

The great armies of the blue and the gray were now 
all in action. Infantry were crowding onto the battle- 
ground by the thousands. The conflict begun by the 
thirteen hundred brave horsemen, was now a seething 
torrent of flame in which twenty-seven thousand Fed- 
erals were directing their fire at the fort, which was 
defended by fourteen thousand Confederates, and was 
the coveted military position of the Middle West. 

Two cannon belched forth flame in the path of the 
Confederate army. 

^'They must be silenced! You must take them!'* 
ordered the general in gray. 

At the head of his own squadron the cavalry leader 
started for the guns. Over a field swept by the bullets 
of the Federal troops, they charged. 

* ^ He is down ! ' * cried the Federal soldiers. 

The horse of the Confederate cavalryman had been 
shot from under him, but securing another, he sprang 
to the saddle. Then, with a few men, he pushed for- 
ward to reconnoiter. Suddenly, coming out of a dense 
growth of underbrush, he found himself face to face 
with a force of Union cavalry. Before he could turn to 
retreat, his horse was felled by a shell, and for the 
second time he found himself on foot. Through the 
tangle of branches he crashed and made his way back 
to his command, and then he was ordered by the general 
to gather up the batteries that had been captured, and 
a retreat was begun along the entire Confederate line. 
Night fell. The men in grav still held the fort, and the 

—83— 



HERO TALES 



men in bine again occnpied the places from which they 
had been driven at daybreak. 

It was midnight. The cavalry leader whose duty it 
had been to start the day's combat, was sleeping by his 
camp-fire. A messenger spoke his name and he 
quickly sprang to his feet. 

*^What is itr' he asked in surprise. 

**You are wanted by the officers/' was the reply. 

^*We are discussing the terms of surrender,'' said 
the general, as the cavalry leader stood before him. 

The cavalryman was amazed. 

*^We are here to fight; not to surrender," he urged. 

**The numbers against us are overwhelming," 
replied the commander. ^^The outlook is hopeless. 
The better part of wisdom and valor is to surrender." 

*'I cannot — I will not surrender either myself or my 
men," he cried. ^'If the fort falls, it must fall with- 
out us." 

A few moments later he stood before his men in the 
light of the camp-fire. 

^'Men," he said, ^'the fort is to surrender. I have 
informed the general that not one of our men will lay 
down his arms. Follow me, and I will try to take you 
out safely. I am going, if I have to go alone, and die 
in the attempt." 

The morning sun fell on Fort Donelson. The white 
flag of surrender fluttered in the breeze. The fort had 
surrendered and the Federal arms had won their first 
great victory of the war, the turning-point of the great 
struggle. But among the troops that became prisoners 
of war, was not one of the gallant cavalry. In the dark- 
ness of the night they had passed through the sleeping 
Federal lines to safety, and were now dashing over the 
hills, headed by that most daring leader of the Con- 
federate cavalry — General Nathan B. Forrest. 

—84— 



THE TALE OF THE WIDOWED MOTHER 
WHO GAVE SEVEN SONS TO LIBERTY 



This is the tale of a widowed mother 
who sent seven sons to fight for the independence 
of her country and who wished she had fifty" to offer the 
cause of Liberty. It is a tale of a mother's heart which inspired 
her daughters to venture their lives in the service of the flag of freedom. 

IT WAS down in South Carolina. The strong men 
of the South were nobly defending the flag of 
independence, and slowly but surely driving the 
British from the land. In the ranks with General 
Greene, fighting for the Stars and Stripes, were the 
two eldest Martin brothers. Their wives, Grace and 
Eachel, lived with Mother Martin while the husbands 
were at war. The highway in front of the Martin 
home was the favorite road of the British messengers 
who carried the orders to the army, and upon these 
despatches depended the movements of the soldiers. 

**I wonder if we can't do something for our coun- 
try," exclaimed Grace Martin, as she saw a courier on 
his horse, galloping down the road. 

^^I'll tell you,'' said Eachel. ''Let's dress in men's 
clothes and see if we can get one of those messages. 
They might tell us something that we could send to the 
army. At any rate, we could keep it from the British. ' ' 

It was night. The battles of the day had been hard 
fought, and couriers were hurrying to the lines with 
important orders for the morning, upon which depended 



HERO TALES 



the lives of thousands of solders, and the victory or 
defeat of our arms. 

The two young women donned some clothes which 
their husbands had left in the house, and, with coat- 
collars turned up, hats drawn down over their eyes, 
and pistols in their hands, hurried along the highway. 
They had reached a bend in the road where the forest 
was dense, when the hoofs of horses could be heard 
approaching. Nearer and nearer they came, until they 
had reached the secluded spot where the supposed 
highwaymen were standing. 

^'Halt,'^ cried a voice, and the figure of a man 
sprang at the reins held by the courier, and thrust a 
revolver into his face. 

The man was taken without warning. He looked to 
his escort, but he, too, was held at the point of a pistol. 

^^Give me that despatch,'^ ordered the voice, *'or 
I'll take your life.'* 

The courier stared into the barrel of the revolver, 
and then released the despatch with reluctance. The 
highwaymen, almost as overcome by surprise as the 
soldiers, fled into the dark. A few minutes later, the 
young wives rushed breathlessly into their home. 

*^We have got a despatch,'' they cried gleefully. 
^^We held up a British courier at the bend of the road 
and got a despatch ! ' ' 

Almost as they were speaking, there was a hard 
rap at the door. Mother Martin opened the door, while 
the young women disappeared. There stood two 
British soldiers. 

*'Can we get shelter here for the night?" asked one 
of them. 

** Surely, you can," answered Mother Martin, 
whose doors were always open to the wayfarer, no 
matter under which flag he was fighting. 

—86— 



THE WIDOWED MOTHER 



The soldiers entered, and, after being offered the 
comforts of the home, fell into conversation with the 
young women, who had now recovered from their 
excitement and were again in womanly attire. 

^'How came yon here!" asked Grace Martin, by 
way of entertaining their guests. 

* ' We were held-up on the highway, ^ * replied one of 
the soldiers, ^ ^ and have decided that it is not safe to go 
on till morning.'' 

^'Had you no arms!'' inquired the girls. 

'^We were taken off our guard and had no time to 
use them," replied the courier. 

The girls taunted them with their lack of courage, 
and the followers of two flags sat before the fire for 
some hours telling stories of war ; but the British guests 
never discovered that they were at that moment still 
in the hands of their captives. 

Mother Martin, whose name was Elizabeth, was a 
native of Carolina county, Virginia, but upon her mar- 
riage to Abram Martin had removed to his plantation 
in the district of ' ' Ninety-Six. ' ' At the opening of i^e 
war, she had nine children; seven were boys and all 
were old enough to enlist in the ranks. When the first 
call to arms was heralded through the land. Mother 
Martin, thrilling with patriotism and zeal, called her 
sons before her. 

^^Go, boys," she said, ^*and fight for your country! 
Fight till death, if you must, but never let your country 
be dishonored ! ' ' 

' ' Were I a man, ' ' she added, ' ' I would go with you. ' ' 

Sometime later, when several British officers were 
taking refreshments at Mother Martin's house, she 
was talking of her boys and one of the officers inquired : 

^^How many sons have you!" 

** Seven," she replied, proudly. 
^87— 



HERO TALES 



** Where are they!" inquired the officer. 

^^All of them are engaged in the service of their 
country,'^ replied the proud mother. 

^^Eeally, madam,'' said the officer with a haughty 
sneer, *^you have enough of them!'' 

* ^ Sir, ' ' replied Mother Martin, looking him directly 
in the eyes, ^'I wish I had fifty!" 

After the war was over, and a new nation waved the 
banner of liberty before the world, Mother Martin 
clasped to her arms six of the seven patriot sons whom 
she had offered to her country. Her mother-heart was 
forced to make but one sacrifice — her seventh and 
eldest son slept on the battlefield of Augusta. 



'She is old, and bent, and wrinkled, 

In ber rocker in tbe sun, 
And tbe tbick, gray, woolen stocking 

That she knits is never done. 
She will ask the news of battle 

If you pass ber when you will. 
For to her tbe troops are marching, 

Marching still. 

'Seven tall sons about her growing 
Cheered the widowed mother's soul; 

One by one they kissed and left ber 
When the drums began to roll." 



—88^ 




THE TALE OF THE BROTHERLY LOVE 
THAT FOUNDED A POWERFUL STATE 



This is the tale of a man 
who loved his fellowmen, and who, even at the peril 
of his life, practised what he preached. It is a tale of the 
Golden Rule in everyday life, in which the world is made richer 
and life made brighter by the grip of a warm hand and a kind word. 

IT WAS the first day of September, 1682. The ship 
Welcome was sailing from the port of Deal, in 
England, bound for the distant shores of the new 
and barbarous western continent — America. On 
board were a party of Quakers, who had left their 
homes in England to reside in the new land of unknown 
perils. 

The leader of the expedition, stern of countenance 
but gentle of nature, had obtained a grant of land in 
the new country from King Charles II., through the 
influence of his friend, the Duke of York, the heir to 
the throne ; and hither he was taking his comrades, who 
had been cruelly persecuted by the English people on 
account of their religious beliefs. Early in life, he had 
embraced the faith of the Quakers, and, despite the 
commands of his father and the ridicule and jeers of 
the people, he went about preaching its doctrine. These 
people led purely spiritual lives. They took no oath, 
made no compliments, removed not the hat to king nor 
ruler, and greeted friend and foe alike. Every day was 
to them a holv day, and the Sabbath a day of rest. 

—89-. 



HERO TALES 



For more than a month, the ship Welcome ploughed 
her way through the strange waters of the Atlantic. 
It required great courage to make the voyage across 
the ocean in those days, in the small sailing-vessels of 
the time, which were but poorly equipped to meet the 
terrible storms. The passengers huddled together most 
uncomfortably in their small cabin, yet they willingly 
suffered, in order that they might have religious liberty. 

When the band of refugees landed on the wooded 
shores of America — at Newcastle on the Delaware — 
they had lost one-third of their number through an 
epidemic of small-pox, which had visited the ship dur- 
ing the voyage. They were received into the little 
settlement of Chester, founded by Swedish immigrants, 
who had fled from their own country to America that 
they, too, might be free to worship God in their own 
way. 

On the seventh day of December, in 1682, the leader 
of the Quakers called the settlers together. He ad- 
dressed them and called their attention to the necessity 
of rules of conduct for the community. The key-note of 
his speech was brotherly love, and from his speech 
grew the great laws that were soon to found a city and 
establish a state. The laws were to be liberal, allowing 
the settlers freedom in their religion ; and only one con- 
dition was required of the office-holder; that condition 
was Christianity. Tn many ways, the leader of the 
Quakers showed that he was an astute executive, far in 
advance of the time. In his provision for education Jie 
appointed a committee of manners, education and art, 
so that all ** wicked and scandalous living may be pre- 
vented, and that all youth may be trained up in virtue, 
and useful arts and Imowledge. ' ' 

The settler, upon receiving his grant of land on 
which to build his homestead, traveled through the 

^90— 



BROTHERLY LOVE 



forest, abounding with game, and hewed out a clearing. 
It required uncommon strength and courage ; yet one 
year after the beginning of the settlement there were 
more than one hundred homes; and in the following 
year the population had mounted to two thousand. The 
forests surrounding the settlement were filled with 
savage Indians, who resented the encroachments of the 
English, and on former occasions had repeatedly at- 
tacked their settlements, massacring all the inhabitants. 
The gentle, brave leader of this band of religious pio- 
neers studied the situation, and found that these earlier 
settlers had treated the Indians with great cruelty. 

One day, a large assemblage gathered under a 
mighty elm tree. Quakers and Indians mingled freely 
as they awaited the commencement of the meeting. 
Under the tree stood the Quaker leader, his broad- 
brimmed hat shading his kind eyes. Looking into the 
faces of the assembled Indians, he spoke with kindness 
and brotherly love. 

' ' We meet, ' ' he said, ' ' on the broad pathway ot good 
faith and good will; no advantage shall be taken on 
either side, but all shall be openness and love. The 
friendship between you and me I will not compare to a 
chain, for that the rains might rust, or the falling trees 
might break. We are the same as if one man's body 
were to be divided into two parts; we are all one flesh 
and blood.'* 

The savages were touched by the noble words. 
**We will live in love with you and your children, '^'^ 
they replied, ^^as long as the sun and moon shall shine." 
Thus did the Quaker leader form his famous treaty 
with the Indians, and by his just and noble treatment, 
make steadfast friends of the savages, who, though 
they waged war with the other colonists, never shed a 
drop of Quaker blood. The natives kept the history 

—91— 



HERO TALES 



of the treaty by means of stringi of wampum, and often 
they rehearsed its provisions. It was the only Indian 
treaty never sworn to, and the only one never broken. 

For years the Quaker leader lived with his com- 
rades; and, though he had been appointed proprietor 
of the great territory, he gave most of his power to his 
people. His sole ambition seemed to be to advance 
their interests. 

**If I knew of anything more that could make you 
happy, I would joyfully grant it," he declared. 

It was in 1684 that he got news from England that 
the Quakers there were being persecuted. Giving up 
his own interests, he sailed for England to assist them. 
The feeling against the sect was very bitter at that 
time and they had to hold their meetings in secret. 
But when Charles II. died, and the Duke of York 
ascended the throne, the Quakers were allowed free- 
dom in their beliefs, and the good Quaker leader was 
permitted to go about the country, preaching the doc- 
trines of his faith. Wlien he died, on the thirteenth of 
May, 1718, his friends, the Indians, sent a message to 
his widow expressing their great grief, at the loss of 
their ^^ brother Onas.'' 

This is the tale of the founding of the City of 
Brotherly Love — Philadelphia — and of the good 
Quaker, whose lands, known as ^^Penn's Woods," be- 
came the great commonwealth of Pennsylvania; — the 
tale of a man who, like the poet's hero, Abou Ben 
Adhem, loved his fellow-men — William Penn. 



'A man not perfect, but of heart 
So high, of such heroic rage, 

That even his hopes became a part 
Of earth's eternal heritage." 

—92— 




THE TALE OF THE SCHOOLMASTER 
WHO DIED FOR HIS COUNTRY 



This is the tale of a schoolmaster 
who, when standing before a martyr's death or a traitor's 
life, choose death, and regretted that he could not live again 
to make the same choice. It is an old story that will ever be new, 
for it brings a throb to the heart and makes one glad to be an American. 

WHILE moimments have been reared in 
many cities throughout America to this 
boy of twenty-two years, his ashes lie — 
no one knows where. Somewhere under 
the great towering structures of America's greatest 
metropolis this youthful hero lies buried. 

As the son of good parents, he was sent to Yale 
College ; then he taught school. On the eighteenth of 
April, in 1775, this youth was the master of a grammar- 
school in New London, Connecticut. The American 
spirit of independence was arousing its fighting blood. 
The townsmen had gathered to hear the news, and 
decided upon action. The young school-teacher listened 
intently. Then rising to his feet, he shouted; 

''Let us march immediately, and never lay down 

our arms until we have obtained our independence.'' 

The gathering broke into spontaneous shouts of 

approval. The fire of liberty was enkindled in their 

hearts. 

Washington was calling for volunteers to follow 
him under the new flag, but the fear of the great British 

—93— 



HERO TALES 



Empire was such that few dared respond. It was then 
that young Nathan Hale, a captain in Knowlton's 
Eangers, calmly decided that it was his duty to respond 
to "Washington's call, and brushing aside the vehement 
protests of his friends, he exclaimed: ^'I desire only 
to be useful. '* 

A few days later he was in the camp of the American 
army. 

No nation ever needed men more than did the Amer- 
ican people at this moment. Darker, if possible, than 
the winter at Valley Forge, were the summer days 
following the Declaration of Independence in 1776. 
The defeats at the battles of Long Island had wrung the 
great heart of Washington with anguish. 

Young Captain Hale held a hurried conference with 
Washington, and then mysteriously disappeared from 
camp. A few days later, he was following the Con- 
necticut shore eastward, disguised as a country school- 
master. Still a few days later he was entering the 
British camps in Long Island, and soon became friendly 
with the British officers about New York. 

In less than two weeks he had completed drawings 
of all their fortifications, and taken in Latin copious 
notes of his observations, which he kept between the 
soles of his shoes. 

All this was but the risk of war, as when one calmly 
marches and sleeps under fire ; but there were no cheers 
nor colors, nor companionship, save the whispers of an 
approving conscience, and the applause of duty done. 
War is romantic, and appeals to the youth and man of 
action. 

A man never knows, however, when he is to be called 
to test his heroism. The * tillage schoolmaster" had 
performed his duty. He had entered and safely left 
the British ranks as a spy, without suspicion. More- 

—94— 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 



over, he had secured important inforaiation that might 
rend the New World from the grasp of the Old "World, 
and establish a new republic on the western hemisphere. 

As he passed along the road a British ojficer ap- 
proached. 

/ ' Halt, ' ' he exclaimed. 

The ''village schoolmaster" was ordered to throw 
up his hands. A search of his body was made. The 
precious documents were found in their hiding-place. 

His elated captors first took him aboard a British 
man-of-war, as a precious jewel for safe-keeping, but 
later, that same afternoon, he was conveyed to General 
Howe's headquarters in New York City. Here, with- 
out even the pretense of a trial, he was summarily con- 
demned to be executed at sunrise on the following 
morning. 

The flying hours of this last awful night were made 
more horrible by the gross brutalities of the provost- 
marshal in charge. 

"May I have a minister f asked the young hero, 
who now knew that he was to meet his Maker. 

' ' No ! ' * replied the British officer. 

*'May I have a Bible f asked Captain Hale. 

''No!'* growled the provost-marshal. 

A more kindly English officer took pity on the 
youthful martyr, and prevailed on the guard to trans- 
fer him from the common guard-house to the officer's 
own tent, that in comparative seclusion he might con- 
sole his last hours by devotion, and write brief mes- 
sages to loved ones. 

Hale's manly and fearless bearing had so stung 
the officer in command, that these farewell messages — 
to his mother, his sweetheart and also one to a soldier 
comrade — ^were seized, and torn to shreds before his 
eyes. 

—95— 



HERO TALES 



In the gray and chilly da«i he was hurried out to 
the orchard. 

The angered provost purposely gave the final or- 
ders prematurely : 

i i rpj^^ rebels shall never know they have a man who 
can die with such firmness ! ' ' he declared. 

To the greater anger of the officer, he found on ar- 
rival at the gallows that the crowd had already gath- 
ered in expectancy of the execution. 

The young captain stood before the lines of British 
red-coats, his six-foot figure athletic and erect. There 
was not a tremor of fear on his face. He stood calm 
and resigned. 

The hemp rope was lowered from the limb of the 
tree and placed about his neck. 

**Have you anything to sayT' growled the British 
officer. 

The young captain, only twenty-two years of age, 
his noble head raised high, and his chest bared, looked 
into the face of the officer. 

His words were low : 

**I only regret that I have but one life to lose for 
my country.'' 

These words have since burned in the hearts of men 
for more than a century. 

In all the stories of mankind is there a more heroic 
death than this? The honorable execution of the 
soldier is to be shot; and his wounds are badges of 
honor. Nathan Hale was haii2:ed in ignominy and met 
his death with a fearlessness that became joyful resig- 
nation, and a heroism that glowed into exultation. 

He was buried by the British in their camp some- 
where in an orchard on Manhattan Island, near the 
present Franklin Square. 



—96— 



THE TALE OF THE CAVALRYMAN WHO 
TURNED DEFEAT INTO VICTORY 



This Is the tale of the cavalryman 
who Inspired a retreating army to stand against the 
foe and led them to victory. It is a tale of a daring ride 
Into the face of death, which will fill the heart of every Amer- 
ican as long as the pulse of man is stirred by the impulse of chivalry. 

THE day was the nineteentli of October, in 1864. 
A Union soldier, wearing the nniform of a 
general of cavalry, received word at Win- 
chester, in Virginia, that a great battle was in 
progress at Cedar Creek, nineteen miles away. 

In the windows of the honses of the citizens of the 
town, all Southern sympathizers, he could see gleeful 
faces, smiling as though they had* received some secret 
and welcome information from the battlefield. 

Hurriedly mounting his horse, the officer started for 
the scene of battle, anxious to see what caused this dis- 
quieting state of affairs, and whether he might not be 
needed at the front. 

It was during the last year of the fearful conflict 
between the North and South. The officer had been 
called to Washington to confer with the government 
officials, and was on his return to his command when 
the tidings of battle reached him. 

Through the crowds in the streets of the town, he 
plunged his horse, and rode for a short distance on the 
country road, but he was forced to take to the fields, 

—97— 



HERO TALES 



because of the throngs of woinpled men returning from 
the front. Two miles from Winchester, the general 
met a supply-wagon. The driver reported that, hear- 
ing that the whole Union army was retreating, he had 
started back for Winchester. Spurring his black 
charger, *^Rienzi" into a gallop, the officer dashed on. 

His first halt was at Newtown, where he met an army 
chaplain, astride a jaded horse, making with all haste 
for the rear. 

^' Where are you going?" asked the officer. 

*^A11 is lost," stammered the frightened chaplain, 
^ ' but everything will be all right when you get there. ' * 

Yet, the chaplain, despite his confidence in the of- 
ficer, still kept on his retreat and disappeared down the 
road. 

The general's features grew set and stern as the 
awful din of the battle came nearer and nearer. In his 
eyes there came that piercing red glint that had been 
seen there before when a battle threatened to go against 
him. The stream of retreating men, ever clogging the 
way, was enough to dishearten any commander. He 
passed a group of straggling soldiers, and without 
slackening his gallop, waved his hat and pointed to the 
front. It was enough. One look at that face, one 
glimpse of that heroic gesture, and their own hats were 
in the air, while their wearied feet immediately turned 
and eagerly rushed back to the battlefield. 

Cheer on cheer greeted the gallant officer as he 
dashed forward. The effect of his presence was elec- 
trical. He uttered never a word of reproach, never an 
oath; the secret of his power was his simple, brave 
enthusiasm, which thrilled his men as he shouted : 

'^Turn back, men. Turn back. We must all face 
the other way." 

The wavering and discouraged troopers obeyed him 
—98— 



THE CAVALRYMAN 



without argument or parley, the great forward move- 
ment gaining recruits at every step. For miles in the 
rear, as the gallant officer galloped onward to the front, 
the roads and fields adjacent were thronged with men 
pressing on after him. With a final dash the general 
was among his men. 

^ ' Sheridan ! Sheridan !" rang the shout from a thou- 
sand throats as the gallant officer wheeled his horse 
before his men. His mere presence had the effect of 
restoring their waning courage. They threw them- 
selves into the fray with new fury. The charging Con- 
federates were perplexed. The hitherto weak and yield- 
ing line of Union soldiers now resisted their attack with 
the solidity of a stone wall. The Confederates were 
thrown back, bruised and bleeding. 

It was now late in the afternoon. The Confederate 
line rose as one man and rushed at the Union line of 
soldiers in a final desperate charge. The withering- 
fire which greeted them did not halt them. Colors fell, 
only to be eagerly caught up again ; men fell unheeded. 
On they came, until, when they were almost hand to 
hand with their foes, the fearful fire of reinforcements 
overpowered them and they turned and fled. For seven 
miles the chase was forced — the Confederates were 
completely routed. 

The courageous cavalryman by his ride from Win- 
chester not only rallied his fleeing army, and recap- 
tured his camp, but drove the Confederates in head- 
long flight and took their supplies and cannon. 

There never were braver men than these Southern 
soldiers, pitted against an army in conflict, but nothing- 
could withstand the inspiring leadership of that un- 
daunted officer, who snatched the brand of victory from 
the consuming flame of defeat — Philip H. Shex'idan, 



—99— 



THE TALE OF THE EXPLORER WHO 
FOUND A DARK CONTINENT 



This Is the tale of a journalist 
who entered the jungles of barbarism in search of a 
nnissionary who had been lost while carrying the torch of a 
Christian civilization into Its depths, and who revealed to the world 
a dark continent with its wonderful lakes and inconnparable riches. 

IT "WAS at a time when the unknown regions of 
Central Africa were appealing to the courage and 
hardihood of men and daring them to penetrate 
its mysteries. The world knew much about north- 
ern Africa ; especially Egypt and Morocco and Algiers ; 
and it knew something about its extreme south; but 
there were in the central part of that continent, vast 
regions of rich land, through which ran mighty rivers, 
and about which the outside world knew nothing. 

In the year 1840, the eyes of the world were cen- 
tered upon one David Livingstone, a Scotch mission- 
ary, who entered the jungle-land to minister to the 
innumerable black races that wandered over its vast 
domain. 

Thirty years passed, and the voice of the great 
Livingstone came back to civilization, with an appeal 
for help to save a continent rich beyond the mind of 
man to compute. Messages proclaiming the discovery 
of the great lakes and rivers in the interior of the vast 
wilderness came back to the world. Then the voice 
ceased. Not a word was heard from the man who had 

—100— 



THE EXPLORER 



become the greatest explorer of liis generation. Months 
passed, but still there was no cry from the jungle- 
depths of the sleeping continent. 

^ ' Where is Livingstone ? ' ' was the query on the lips 
of the civilized nations. 

The world called for a man who would offer himself 
to the cause of humanity and volunteer to enter the 
darkness of barbarism to solve the mystery of the 
impenetrable silence. 

*^I'll go," came the reply. 

It was a young war-correspondent of a great Amer- 
ican journal who spoke. He was but twenty-eight 
years of age, but he had met the world square in the 
face since the day that he came into it, for at three 
years of age he had been left parentless in an English 
alms-house, and at fifteen he had come to America as a 
cabin-boy on a ship that had entered the port of New 
Orleans. He was adopted by a merchant, whose name 
he took in place of that given him at his birth. 

This volunteer had always lived close to the heart 
of mankind. At twenty-one years of age he had stood 
on the battle-line in the great American Civil war, and 
at its close he had followed the British army into Abys- 
sinia, whence he had sent to the world the first news 
of its conquest. 

It was on the sixth day of January, in 1871, that the 
young journalist reached Zanzibar, on the coast of 
Africa. He had entered upon his mission in secrecy, 
and the world knew little of him or his journey. 

The difficulties that beset him were almost beyond 
human endurance. It was on the twenty-first of March 
when he, with two hundred natives who he had hired 
for a year's journey, started into the interior. His 
half-savage companions muttered in a strange tongue 
and looked upon him with suspicion. The young ex- 

—101— 



Mero tales 



plorer knew not the moment wfl^n his own body-guard 
might slay him. Every hour brought his little army 
into encounters with savage beasts or savage tribes. 
It was only his patience, bravery and resourcefulness 
that kept him alive. Every moment of the day tested 
his courage, but he always showed the same fearless- 
ness that he had displayed long before in the great 
American war, when, escaping from his guards after 
he had been made prisoner at the battle of Shiloh, he 
swam across a river amid a storm of bullets. 

It was in June that this strange expedition entered 
the native village of Unyanyembe, in the wilds of the 
African continent. Hunger and disease had claimed 
many sacrifices. Some of his men had been taken by 
sickness and death; others had lost their lives in en- 
counters with beasts ; still others had been seized with 
superstitions and deserted, while still others had been 
rebellious, including two giant black men who plotted 
mutiny against him; but the explorer's courage was 
strong, and with but fifty-four men remaining, he ad- 
vanced further into the interior, aided by the advice of 
three faithful guides who had taken similar journeys 
before. 

The months wore on until the twenty-eighth of Oc- 
tober. The American journalist, haggard and worn 
from two hundred and thirty-six days of jungle 
dangers, entered the little village of Ujiji, on the north- 
east coast of the great Tanganyika. A cry that a 
strange white man had arrived went through the tribe 
and a crowd of black natives soon surrounded him. 

The spokesman for the tribe was a giant black, with 
a huge nose and lips, rings in his ears, and bands of 
brass about his ankles and wrists. 

He advanced toward the white intruder and with a 
low bow, exclaimed in pure English: 

—102— 



* h 



THE EXPLORER 



* * Good morning, sir. ' ^ 

The white man was astounded. To hear his native 
tongue in this weird jungle-land filled him with wonder- 
ment. How had this savage learned these words of 
civilization ? 

Then the truth dawned upon him. 

*^I am a Susi/' said the tribesman, *^Dr. Living- 
stone's servant.'* 

Stanley was nearly overcome. Could it be true that 
he stood face to face with the object for which he had 
for months risked his life 1 

''Is Dr. Livingstone near?" he inquired. 

The tribesman took his arm and led him through 
the gathering of natives, to a clan of Arabs, whose 
dark faces were protected by hoods. In their midst 
stood a white-haired old man, whose countenance was 
furrowed with lines of self-denial, sacrifice, and suf- 
fering. It was the white face of modern civilization. 
The young American's heart throbbed with emotion. 
Then, knowing that self-control is the greatest quality 
in final triumph, he removed his hat, baring his head 
and advanced. 

**Dr. Livingstone, I presume,'' he said. 

**Yes," was the firm reply. 

As the young American journalist grasped the hand 
of the lost missionary and imparted to him the greet- 
ings of the civilized world, delivering to him the writ- 
ten messages from his own beloved children, the eyes 
of both of the great explorers were blinded by tears of 
thanksgiving. 

^'What would I have not given," said the American 
journalist after the excitement had subsided, ''for a 
bit of friendly wilderness where, unseen, I might vent 
my joy in some mad freak, such as idiotically biting 
my hand, turning a somersault, or slashing at a tree^ 



HERO TALES 



in order to give vent to the excitement which was well- 
nigh uncontrollable. My heart beats fast, but I must 
not let my face betray my emotions, lest it should de- 
tract from the dignity of a white man appearing under 
such extraordinary circumstances.'^ 

The two men remained together in the heart of 
Africa for four months, until the following February, 
in 1872, when they parted forever, Livingstone starting 
on the journey from which he never returned, and the 
journalist making his way back to Europe to tell the 
world of the greatest feat of exploration which the age 
had known. 

This is the story of the enterprise of American 
journalism which discovered Livingstone. It is also 
the story of the finding by a young American journalist, 
of his life-work; for it was this journey, in the cause 
of humanity, that stirred his ambition to explore Cen- 
tral Africa, and resulted in the gift to the world of Lake 
Victoria Nyanza, the largest body of fresh water on 
the globe, with an area of forty thousand square miles ; 
and the throwing open of the darkest continent of the 
earth to the light of civilization. It was his sincerity, 
his courage, and the unselfish pursuit of a great hu- 
mane mission that enabled him to come out of the first 
ordeal with triumph, and to devote himself still further 
to the great work of African exploration. 

Thus it was that a young journalist received the 
decoration of the cross of the Legion of Honor; gained 
the friendship of the monarchs of the Old World; 
founded the great Congo Free State, which in its opu- 
lence has become the envy of the governments of Eu- 
rope; and became the greatest explorer of his age — 
Henry M. Stanley. 



--104— 




THE TALE OF THE ADMIRAL WHO UN- 
FURLED THE FLAG IN THE ORIENT 



This is the tale of the son 
of the granite hills who followed the flag of his country 
throughout a long life and crowned ,his old age by carry- 
ing it victoriously into the seas of the Ancient East and plant- 
ing American civilization on the rich islands of the Golden Orient. 

IT WAS a cold, bleak day in December in the year 
1837. In the town of Montpelier, in Vermont, in 
a honse nearly opposite the beautiful state 
capitol building, a boy came into the world — the 
heir to generations of American patriotism. His boy- 
hood was passed in the usual way of the normal 
American lad. He was a leader in their sports and ex- 
celled in their various games. At the age of fifteen, he 
entered a military school. His ambition was to become 
a great soldier. Disappointed at not securing an ap- 
pointment to West Point, his desire turned to An- 
napolis, and there he went, graduating in 1858, fifth in 
a class of over sixty cadets. 

The young midshipman entered the navy of the 
United States and for two years ranged the Mediter- 
ranean sea, performing his duties so well that he won 
commendation from his superior officers, and was soon 
commissioned as lieutenant. When the conflict be- 
tween the North and South broke out, he served with 
the great Farragut, and at the close of hostilities, he 
had reached the rank of lieutenant-commander. 

—105— 



HERO TALES 



The years passed and the daring naval officer fol- 
lowed his duties along the old adage, ' ' in time of peace, 
prepare for war.'^ The last days in 1897, found this 
son of the Vermont hills in command of the Asiatic 
squadron in the China sea, his pennant flying from the 
flagstaff of the Olympia. 

The news of the destruction of the American battle- 
ship Maine, in the harbor of Havana, flashed around the 
earth, under sea and over land, to the commander of 
the Asiatic squadron. The hearts of his men burned 
with resentment at the insult offered to their flag, the 
emblem of civil and religious liberty throughout the 
world. Anxiously they waited for the declaration of 
war. The crews drilled constantly in the use of the 
great guns and smaller arms. The ships assumed their 
war-coats of gray. 

All was ready when the order came from their far- 
off native land, America: ^^ Proceed against the 
Spanish fleet in Asiatic seas and blow it out of the 
water. '^ 

It was the twenty-fifth day of April, in 1898. The 
American fleet, hoisting their anchors, sped out over 
the sea. Seven hundred miles to the south, in the port 
of Manila, the stronghold of Old Spain in the Far East, 
lay the Spanish fleet. Five days later the huge forms 
of the American battleships came out of the mists that 
enshrouded the seas and loomed like ghostly spectres 
off the coast of the ancient Philippines. Spanish cun- 
ning had strewn death on the bed of the ocean and 
mines were planted in the entrance to the harbor to 
blow up any ship that dared to try to enter the bay of 
Manila. The banks of the passage were lined with 
batteries of great cannon. 

It was ten o'clock at night. The American battle- 
fleet was in darkness. Not a light was shining from the 

—106-- 



THE ADMIRAL 



monster ships. Led by the flagship Olympia, silently 
they moved along, mile after mile, without a sign from 
the enemy. The sailors, stationed at their posts, 
watched the dark shores anxiously, expecting moment- 
arily, the rending crash of a mine. 

On the bridge of the Olympia, stood the man from 
the Granite hills, calm and alert. A bright light sprang 
up on shore. An answering signal flashed out, and a 
hissing rocket rushed toward the heavens. 

*'It has taken them a long time to wake up,'' said 
the commodore, with a gleam of humor in his ea^le 
eye. 

He showed no more concern at these signals of 
death than if his ships were on parade, instead of going 
into battle. Suddenly, there was a tremendous roar. 
The first Spanish shell went shrieking over the Ameri- 
can ships. The American fleet had now entered the 
bay, and were face to face with the Spanish guns. 

^ The hours of the night dragged slowly. Not a man 
was permitted to leave his station, but half of the crew 
were allowed to lie down by their guns, and get what 
little sleep they could, in the intense heat of the tropical 
night. 

The first rays of dawn flickered over the battleships. 
It was the morning of the first of May. A flash from 
a land battery shot out through the mist. There was a 
torrent of water. Two great geysers seemed to^ lift 
the sea into the clouds, thrown up by submerged mines. 
* 'There!'' exclaimed the commodore, ''they have 
some mines, after all. ' ' 

The flagship Olympia rocked in the tempestuous 

water. 

"Hold her as close in as the water will let you, but 
be careful not to touch bottom," ordered the commo- 
dore to the officer directing the course of the ship. 

—107— 



HERO TALES 



Bursting shell and shriekS^ shot filled the air, as 
the Spaniards hurled their defiance at the Americans. 
The advancing American ships were silent as they 
drew nearer the smoke-clouded Spanish vessels. The 
strain on the American sailors was terrific as they stood 
inactive under the terrible rain of steel. On the bridge 
stood the gallant commander, calmly watching the 
actions of the enemy. In perfect formation the great 
battleships filed along, one after the other. 

*^You may fire when you are ready, Gridley.'' The 
words of the great commander were calm and de- 
liberate. 

With a fearful crash, the guns spoke their answer 
to the order. In single file, the great battleships sailed 
along, parallel to the Spanish fleet, pouring in a con- 
tinual and terrific bombardment. Down the line they 
passed with their rain of death, and, at the end, they 
gracefully swept around and came back on the same 
course into the center of the battle, steel shell meeting 
steel ship, amid the roaring of unleashed guns. 

The gallant commander pacing the bridge, unmind- 
ful of the plunging shell about him, was gazing at the 
battle, intent only upon the performance of his duty. 

For two hours the opposing ships hurled their fear- 
ful deluge of shell upon each other. 

At seven o'clock, having run five times the course 
of death, the American ships withdrew. A sailor ran 
up to an officer, and, with tears in his eyes and choking 
voice cried: ^'Why are we stopping now? We have 
got them licked and can finish them in one more round. ' ' 

^ ' Take it easy, ' ' replied the officer calmly. ^ * We are 
only stopping for breakfast, and we will finish them 
off to your heart 's content after we have had something 
to eat." 

At eleven o'clock the American ships were again 
—108— 



THE ADMIRAL 



in action, moving into the tumult of the bay like raging 
demons. 

Then their crews gave mighty shouts. The mouths 
of the hot cannon were silent. The smoke in the harbor 
lifted like a veil, and there, floating over the silenced 
Spanish guns, waved the white flag of surrender. 

The greatest naval battle of modern times was over ; 
the destiny of two nations was decided; the flag of 
American civilization waved over the Spanish islands 
in the Far East, ushering in the dawn of a new epoch 
there ; and through it all not an American life had been 
sacrificed and only seven had been injured, a modern 
miracle. 

The enthusiasm upon the return of the great com- 
modore to his native land, and the ovation given him 
and his men as they sailed into the harbor of New 
York, have never been equalled since the days of the 
Romans, when they welcomed the return of their vic- 
torious heroes. For two days the great metropolis 
went wild with exultation — feting, cheering, and wor- 
shipping the hero of Manila Bay. The Government be- 
stowed its highest honors upon George Dewey, the man 
from the Granite hills — and made him an admiral. 



"Go forth in hope! Go forth in might! 
To all your nobler self be true, 
That coming times may see in you 
The vanguard of the hosts of light. 

"Though wrathful justice load and train 
Your guns, be every breach they make 
A gateway pierced for mercy's sake 
That peace may enter in and reign." 



■109— 




THE TALE OF THE SCIENTIST WHO 
APPEALED TO A HEEDLESS WORLD 



This is the tale of a scientist 
who tried to reveal to civilization one of tits secret forces, but 
was scoffed and rejected, until in despair he was about to give 
up the struggle against public opinion and poverty, when the world 
listened at the last moment and was startled by his marvelous power. 

IT WAS in October, in the year 1832. On board the 
packet Sully, bound from Havre, France, to New 
York, a group of passengers were discussing the 
theories of electro-magnetism. An American 
physician was describing an experiment that he had 
witnessed in Paris, in which electricity had been suc- 
cessfully transmitted through a great length of wire. 
An artist was listening intently to the narration, and, 
at the conclusion of the doctor's remarks, he said : "If 
that is so, I see no reason why messages may not be 
instantaneously transmitted." Through the rest of 
the voyage the artist was seen but little by the passen- 
gers. He spent his days in his state-room, and most of 
the time seemed to be sketching strange contrivances 
on paper. As he left the ship at New York, his fellow 
passengers taunted him on his seclusion. 

"Well,'' said one of them, "I suppose you have 
solved the problems of the world.*' 

"I have solved one of them, at the least," was the 
reply. 

It was three years later — 1835, A group of friends 
—110— 



THE SCIENTIST 



were gathered in the room of the artist. Before them 
lay great coils of wire — a half mile in length, and two 
crude instruments. 

*^ Those instruments," said the artist, **will carry a 
message around the world. ' ' 

The friends were amazed. Then, with the touch of 
the keys, he laid before them the simple power of elec- 
tricity to convey thought through space. 

This was the beginning of a great science that was 
to test the courage of the man who had given it to the 
world. Various forms of communicating by wire had 
been devised by scientists before, but it remained for 
the artist to bring together unsuccessful attempts and 
form them into a practical method of transmitting a 
message by that then little known element — electricity. 
Through many great trials and difficulties he labored 
with his crude tools and small knowledge of the power 
that he was trying to bend to his will. The commercial 
world, which he was to revolutionize, refused to con- 
sider him seriously. 

^^It is interesting," said the financiers, **but can 
never be put to practical use." 

It was some months later that the inventor, having 
exhausted all his funds and now threatened by poverty, 
appeared in Washington, and appealed to Congress for 
an appropriation to build a telegraph-line from Balti- 
more to Washington. The statesmen listened to his 
request with courtesy, but no action was taken. The 
discouraged inventor was overwhelmed when he real- 
ized that his own government would not take him seri- 
ously. His experiments for the past five years had 
brought him almost to penury, and it was necessary 
that he should interest some one in his invention in 
order that he might be saved from hunger. 

In his earlier days he had studied art for several 
—111— 



HERO TALES 



years in Europe. Now lie boarded a packet, and sailed 
with his precious invention to France, hoping to con- 
vince the foreign powers of the value of his telegraph. 

^^It is marvelous/' they cried, **but what is it good 
for?'' 

Utterly discouraged, the inventor returned to 
America, and again appealed to Congress. For four 
long years, in the midst of his poverty and trouble, he 
haunted the national Capitol. 

It was a night in March. The year was now 1843. 
Down the steps of the Capitol he wearily trudged, heart- 
sick and discouraged, wondering what he could do to 
retain life in his body. He had waited all through the 
long session for his bill to be introduced for discussion 
— only to meet with disappointment again. 

The next morning, while engaged in gloomy 
thoughts, a message was brought to the inventor: 
^^ Congress in the last hour before midnight, appro- 
priated $30,000 for your telegraph-line." 

Only those who have struggled through anxious 
years know the joy that he felt at that moment. Imme- 
diately he set about constructing the line that proved 
to the world the soundness of his judgment and the 
practicability of transmitting messages by electricity. 

The first message passed over the wires was in these 
profound words : ^ ^ What hath God wrought. ' ' Though 
beset by difficulties that seemed insurmountable, per- 
severance had won at last. A new and magic power 
had been given to the world ; a power that has made and 
unmade nations ; that enables us to send our thoughts 
instantaneously for thousands of miles ; a power that 
has, over and over again, saved human life and is sav- 
ing human lives, as you listen to this tale of the man 
who invented telegraphy — Samuel Finley Breese 
Morse. 

—112— 



THE TALE OF THE CABIN BOY WHO 
BECAME THE FIRST ADMIRAL 



This is the tale of a cabin boy 
who entered the American navy at nine years of age 
and through his nnagniflcent courage becanne the first admiral 
under the American flag. It is a tale of indomitable will that 
knows no defeat, that conquered his foes and the homage of the world. 

IT WAS the month of August, in 1864. The naval 
history of the world offers no more thrilling adven- 
tures than those of the daring Americans who 
^ were on the flagship, Hartford, during the storm- 
ing of the river batteries at Port Hudson, on the 
Mississippi, and the battle of Mobile Bay; the two 
naval actions of the Civil War that did more than all 
the others to bring about a Union victory. 

The captain of the ship was a hero of the wooden- 
warship days, when the style of fighting was at close 
range. Fear was unknown to him, and it was through 
daring to do the seemingly impossible, that he won his 
brilliant victories, and made for himself a name that 
will live as long as the history of the United States navy 
is remembered — David Glascoe Farragut. 

Farragut was in his fifty-third year, when his 
greatest triumph was accomplished. At the beginning 
of the war, being a Virginian, he was looked upon with 
a little suspicion by the Navy Department, but finally, 
was given a chance to display his patriotism. 

On this August day, Farragut 's fleet of seventeen 
—113— 



HERO TALES 



ships drew up outside of M^ile Bay, prepared to 
attempt the most hazardous feat in their career. Far- 
ragut, having opened the Mississippi Eiver, in the face 
of tremendous odds, now undertook to enter Mobile 
Bay. The entrance to the channel was guarded by 
Fort Morgan, mounting some fifty guns. One hundred 
and eighty tin torpedoes were anchored in the channel, 
leaving a space scarcely a hundred yards wide, and 
directly under the guns of the fort, which boats enter- 
ing the harbor must pass. This opening was marked 
with red buoys, in order that blockade-runners might 
pass in and out, but the marks served equally well for 
Farragut. Inside the bay was a small Confederate 
squadron, consisting of the ram, Tennessee, and the 
gunboats, Morgan, Gaines, and Selma. This was the 
blockade which Farragut undertook to break through. 
He was to attempt it when the flood tide would 
help to sweep his vessels through the channel, with the 
help of a southwest wind that was blowing. Farragut 
figured on the wind blowing the smoke from the guns 
into the eyes of the gunners in the fort, and thus mak- 
ing it more difficult for them to take aim. With wind 
and tide to meet his requirements, Farragut drew up 
his fleet for the battle. Cruisers and gunboats were 
lashed together, in order to tow the vessel which was 
exposed to the fire of the forts, out of range, if it became 
disabled. The line was formed with the Brooklyn 
(lashed to the Octorara), leading. Next came the 
Hartford, lashed to the Meta-comet. The others fol- 
lowed. 

In the bay, the Confederate ship, Tennessee, was 
drawn up under the guns of the fort, while close beside 
it lay three Confederate gunboats ready for action if 
the fort should be passed. 

The four iron-clad monitors of the fleet, the Tecum- 
—114— 



THE CABIN BOY 



sell, Manhattan, Winnebago, and Chickasaw, took the 
right of line, next to the fort. The Tecumseh was the 
first boat to move into the buoy-marked pass, and then 
the battle began. For a time, Farragut stood on the 
deck, but the smoke obscuring his vision, he climbed 
into the rigging. Seeing him standing there, high 
above the deck, and fearing that if he was wounded he 
would fall to the deck, the captain of the Hartford 
ordered the quartermaster to tie him into the ratlines. 
This was done, and, lashed in the rigging of his flag- 
ship, Farragut directed the battle. 

There was no reply to the gun of the Tecumseh, from 
the forts. The gunners were waiting for the fleet to 
come into the closest possible range, but the Tennessee 
opened fire on the Tecumseh, and, regardless of the 
hidden torpedoes, the captain of the Union boat ordered 
her headed directly for the Confederate ram. She had 
scarcely left the "buoy-marked'' passage, when she 
struck one of the submerged torpedoes. There was a 
dull roar. The stern of the Tecumseh rose in the air, 
and ten seconds later, she plunged to the bottom, taking 
all her men, but eight, with her. 

The loss of the Tecumseh did not halt Farragut. 
The order was still, '^Advance." As the fleet came 
close to the fort, the entire battery of fifty guns opened 
fire. But Farragut 's strategy was successful. The 
smoke of the conflict was blown into the eyes of the 
gunners of the fort, and their fire was comparatively 
ineffectual. 

Suddenly, the Brooklyn, leading the line of advance 
through the narrow channel, stopped. The entire fleet 
was brought to a standstill, under the guns of the fort. 
The deck of the Hartford became a fearful sight, and 
everything was in confusion. Delay at this point, 
under fire of both the fort and the fleet, meant defeat. 

^115— 



HERO TALES 



** What's the matter witlr the Broohlynf asked 
Farragut. 

As if in answer, came the signal from the Brooklyn, 
* ' Tell the admiral that there is a strong line of torpedoes 
ahead. ' ' 

^^ Torpedoes!" shouted Farragut, — ^^We're going 
ahead." Then to the captain of the Hartford, ^'Full 
speed ahead, sir!" 

The order was enough. Crowding past the Brooklyn, 
the Hartford took the lead in the line. Straight for the 
torpedoes in the channel she headed, and passed over 
them. They bumped against her sides, but did not 
explode. The admiral had expected this. The tor- 
pedoes, drifted by the flood tide, had been carried into 
such a position that the ships did not hit them at the 
proper angle to explode the percussion caps. The 
Brooklyn then followed, and passed the torpedoes in 
safety. The others came on, discharging broadside 
after broadside into the fort, while, blinded by the 
smoke, the gunners of the fort fired wildly at the fleet, 
doing little damage. 

In a comparatively short time, the entire fleet had 
passed the fort, having left many guns dismounted and 
scores of their gunners dead. The torpedoes and the 
fort were silent, and all that now confronted Farragut 
was the little Confederate fleet of one ram and three 
gunboats. The latter soon surrendered, but the Ten- 
nessee, a powerful iron-clad vessel, was commanded by 
Franklin Buchanan, a stubborn fighter, who feared 
no power. He had met and fought each of the Union 
boats in turn, as they came into the harbor. The 
Tennessee was left to bear the brunt of the battle alone. 
Bravely she faced them, but one after another, the 
Union boats rammed her, pouring broadsides into her, 
until battered into a helpless hulk, she surrendered, and 

--116-^ 



THE CABIN BOY 



Buchanan, the last defender of Mobile Bay, passed 
over his sword to the victorious commander of the 
Union fleet. 

The impossible had been accomplished. The great- 
est of Farragut's great undertakings had been success- 
fully carried out. A Union fleet floated in Mobile Bay. 
The forts were at the mercy of the Union forces, and 
the last Confederate seaport stronghold had fallen. 
The War Department, in recognition of the feat, created 
the office of Admiral of the Navy, and it was bestowed 
upon Farragut, as a reward for a brilliant and heroic 
achievement. 



*I'd weave a wreath for those who fought 

In blue upon the waves, 
I drop a tear for all who sleep 

Down in the coral caves, 
And proudly do I touch my cap 

Whene'er I meet to-day 
A man who sailed with Farragut 

Thro' fire in Mobile Bay. 

*We count our dead, we count our scars, 

The proudest ever worn; 
We cheer the flag that gayly flies 

Victorious in the sun. 
No longer in the rigging stands 

The hero of the day, 
For he has linked his name fore'er 

To deathless Mobile Bay. 

"He sleeps, the bluff old Commodore 

Who led with hearty will; 
But ah! methinks I see him now, 

Lashed to tJie rigging still. 
I know that just beyond the tide, 

In God's own glorious day. 
He waits to greet the gallant tars 

Who fought in Mobile Bay." 



■117— 




THE TALE OF THE TORY FATHER WHO 
BELIEVED LIBERTY WAS A DREAM 



This is the tale of a Tory father 
who did not believe that a nation could ever be 
reared fronn the Declaration of Independence; who declared 
that the republic could not long exist and sacrificed his life in his 
loyalty to the established doctrine that the King ruled by Divine Right. 

IN THE old days when the Americans had decided 
to throw off the yoke of English rule, and set up 
an independent government, founded on the new 
and radical principle that ' ' every man is born free 
and equal," there were many who did not consider their 
decision wise. They called it foolhardy and said that 
it never could be done ; that it was not practical ; and 
that it was only a dream. There are always men like 
this in every age. Every new invention and every new 
step of progress is opposed by these same honest, well- 
meaning pessimists, who refuse to believe any more 
than their eyes can actually see. Sometimes they have 
the satisfaction of saying, ' ' I told you so. ' ' More often 
they are left far behind in the march of progress. 

This tale, however, is of a man who honestly believed 
that his countrymen were wrong, and when it came to a 
point where he had to take his stand, he stood against 
the doctrines of liberty, and remained loyal to his con- 
scientious belief that * ' the King can do no wrong. ' ' His 
decision made him a "traitor" to the one and a 
"patriot" to the other — a strange paradox of heroism. 

—118— 



THE TORY FATFIER 



In the little town of Wallingford, in Connecticut, in 
the year 1746, on the fourteenth day of June, Moses 
Dunbar was born, one of a family of sixteen children. 
When he was a youth of eighteen, he married a maiden 
named Phebe Jerome. This was in the days when the 
so-called ''dissenting'' churches in Puritan New Eng- 
land and the powerful Church of England were bitter 
enemies. Moses and his brothers and sisters were 
brought up as Congregationals, and the hard and fast 
rules of the ''orthodox" church were drilled into their 
little brains more thoroughly, possibly, than any other 
branch of their education. 

Shortly after his marriage, Moses Dunbar and his 
young wife, withdrew from the faith of their childhood 
and declared themselves for the Church of England. 
The daring young Dunbar assured the horrified con- 
gregation that he had weighed the matter thoroughly 
and had determined that his course was the only right 
one for him to pursue. From that time on, to the end of 
his life, he was a fearless supporter of the Crown. 

"I freely confess,'' he declared, "I never could see 
the necessity of taking up arms against my mother 
country. ' ' 

Angered at the decided stand that his son had taken 
for the church and the King of England, his father 
drove him from home, and, with his wife, Moses went to 
live in New Cambridge (the early name of the town of 
Bristol, in Connecticut), which had been the home of 
Mrs. Dunbar before her marriage. 

As time passed, the dislike among his neighbors 
for young Dunbar grew intense. The burden of the 
Eevolutionary War was hanging heavy on the land, and 
every man who did not enter the army was an object of 
suspicion. Frequently such men were driven from 
their homes and obliged to flee for their lives. 

—119— 



HERO TALES 



But Moses Dunbar and his ^f e struggled on, until 
twelve years had elapsed since their wedding day — 
years of incessant combat against public opinion, of 
insult and persecution. One day, he, while on his way 
home to his family, was attacked by a mob of forty men, 
and cruelly beaten almost unto death ; but, finally, sat- 
isfied that he had signed a false statement which they 
had thrust upon him, they dispersed, and left him suffer- 
ing by the roadside. 

He had barely recovered from these injuries, when 
the greatest of all sorrows came to him. His faithful 
wife, who had been his chief consolation during the 
twelve years of hardship and insult, and who was now 
the mother of seven children, died. 

* ^ I must give my life to my children, now, ' ^ he 
declared, and so closely did he remain with his mother- 
less family that little was seen of him in the commu- 
nity. One day, however, when he was going to town 
to carry the produce from his farm, he was met on the 
road by a company of men and seized without warning. 

^^This is the Tory,'' they growled, and hurried him 
before a committee which sentenced him to prison for 
five months. He tried to get word to his children, but 
his captors would not allow it. As he lay in prison, his 
prayers were constantly for his beloved ones, whom he 
resigned to the care of his God. On the fourteenth day, 
the prison door was opened, and he was told that he 
could go on one condition — that he would promise to 
desert the Church of England and become a * ' patriot. ' ' 
This he refused to do, but he was finally allowed to go 
on his way, though he was warned to get out of the 
country. Apprehending greater danger if he remained 
in that locality, he fled to Long Island. 

Time went on, and a father's longing to be once more 
with his children, overcame him. He returned to his 

— 120-- 



THE TORY FATHER 



old home and hurriedly married a certain Miss Esther 
Adams, who had been very kind to his children. 

His bitterness against the new republic rankled at 
his heart, and he decided not only to remain out of the 
American fight for independence, but to pledge himself 
to the mother country. He accepted a captain's com- 
mission for the King's service in Colonel Fanning 's 
regiment, though he knew that the fact, if discovered 
by his neighbors, would mean certain death. Suspicion 
had been directed against him for many years, and the 
revolutionists were constantly seeking an opportunity 
to punish him for his defiant loyalty to the British flag. 

In the year 1777, one Joseph Smith, whom he had 
considered his friend, and who knew of his commission, 
betrayed him — a peculiar act which made Smith a 
traitor to friendship, but a patriot to the cause of his 
country. 

The Tory Dunbar was taken before the court. 

* * High treason, ' ' pronounced the magistrate. * * You 
are sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead, on 
the nineteenth of March.'' 

Captain Dunbar, an American in the King's army, 
was cast into prison to wait for the day of his doom. 
The time was near at hand, and the shadow of the 
gallows was upon him, when one Elisha Wadsworth, 
who had come to admire the young man's courage, 
succeeded one day in slipping a knife into the Captain's 
hands. During the night, Dunbar wrenched apart his 
chains, and springing at the guard, knocked him to the 
ground and fled through the open door. 

*^ Dunbar, the Tory, has escaped!" 

The news spread like wildfire through the com- 
munity, and the hounds of the law were soon on the trail 
of the fleeing Tory. His freedom was brief, for he was 
soon dragged from his hiding-place and hurried back to 

— 121-. 



HERO TALES 



the prison. On the nineteent^^f March, he was led to 
the gallows, staunchly refusing to acknowledge the new 
republic, which he believed could never endure and was 
nothing more than a foul rebellion against his mother 
country. His last words were of loyalty to the Church 
of England and the Crown. 

This tale of Moses Dunbar is in its essence the 
counterpart of that of Nathan Hale. Both were faith- 
ful to that which they honestly believed to be the best 
interests of their f ellowmen. Whatever we may record 
against the Tories of the American Revolution, it must 
be remembered that they had a right to their convic- 
tions and that it took courage to live up to them. This 
is a day of tolerance, and the American people can well 
afford to acknowledge now the heroism of the men 
whose hearts led them to remain loyal to their King. 

The flags of England and America fly to-day side by 
side, and intertwine in the breeze as the emblem of the 
future in which the English-speaking race is to lead 
the earth in its progress toward the loftiest civilization. 



'What is the voice I hear 

On the wind of the Western sea? 
Sentinel, listen from out Cape Clear, } 

And say what the voice might be. ! 

'Tis a proud, free people calling aloud to a people J 

proud and free, ! 

And it says to them, 'Kinsmen, hail! 

We severed have been too long; 
Now let us have done with a wornout tale, 

The tale of an ancient wrong, 
And our friendship last long as love doth last, and be 
stronger than death is strong!" 



--122— 




THE TALE OF THE REAR-ADMIRAL OF 
THE GREATEST FLEET ON THE SEAS 



This is tlie tale of a rear admiral 
wlio rose from a naval ensign and became commander 
of the greatest fighting force that ever sailed under one flag on 
the highway of the seas. It is a tale of the iron will that won every 
battle in war and peace and enthroned him in the hearts of his people. 

DOWN in old Virginia, on the eighteenth day of 
August, 1846, the hero of this tale came upon 
the earth. He was fifteen years of age, when 
he heard the shot that ''rang 'round the 
world'' — and a student at Annapolis. 

''I am a Southern lad," he said, ''but I am in the 

service of my government and I must obey its orders." 

The discipline of the naval academy had inspired 

him with the love of the flag and to it he pledged his 

life. 

A great fleet of warships, the greatest that had ever 
sailed under the American flag, passed out of Hampton 
Roads. On the deck of one of the ships stood a young 
ensign — the boy of Virginia — in the blue uniform of 
his government. 

The huge fleet moved into the harbor at Fort Fisher. 
The batteries in the forts boomed. 

* ' Ashore, ' ' ordered the commander of the ship, and, 
with sixty-four men, the boy-ensign was landed under 
the flaming guns. 

The merciless fire fell among the brave sixty-five 
—123— 



HERO TALES 



sailors. The smoke envelop e(!rthem. The boy-ensign 
staggered, and almost fell, but quickly recovering his 
balance, rushed on, with a bullet in his shoulder. Now 
they were within a hundred yards of the stockade 
around the fort. He stumbled and fell on his face. A 
comrade ran to his side as the young ensign calmly 
bound a silk handkerchief around a wound in his left 
knee. Again on his feet, he rushed to the front of his 
charging command. Again he staggered. A third 
bullet had struck him — this time in the right knee and 
he went down, helpless. Calmly sitting there, in the 
midst of a terrific rain of bullets, he drew from his 
pocket another handkerchief and proceeded to bind up 
the last wound. As he bandaged the wounded knee, 
and was attempting to rise, he was struck in the foot 
and thrown again to the ground with violence. 

Some hours later the lad, who was lying in a pool 
of water and blood, was carried to his ship. Of the 
sixty-four men of his command, fifty-eight were dead or 
wounded. 

The boy-ensign lay hovering between life and death 
in the hospital at Norfolk. 

^^His life can be saved only by amputating both 
legs,*' said the surgeons as they stood over him. The 
youthful ensign drew a pistol from under his pillow. 

*^I'll shoot the first man who dares to put a knife 
to those legs," he said with determination. And he had 
won his first battle — for the surgeons withdrew **to let 
him die as he liked." 

The wounds would have made a cripple of most men 
for life, but the young naval officer determined to over- 
come them. In spite of the intense pain, he constantly 
exercised his shot-riddled legs, and five years later 
stood before his superior officers, seeking active service 
for his country. 

—124— 



THE REAR-ADMIRAL 



^ ' The medical board of the navy had retired him, ' ' 
he was informed. The young ensign appealed to Con- 
gress for re-instatement, and soon he was again sailing 
the seas. 

The years passed. Chili, in South America, was 
disrupted by civil strife. The cruiser Yorktown entered 
the waters of the South American republic to protect 
American citizens and their property, during the 
struggle. On the bridge, in command of the gunboat, 
was the young ensign of old Fort Fisher, now grown 
gray in the service. 

The months passed. A squadron of American ships 
of war was sent to entertain the Kaiser of Germany at 
the opening of the Kiel Canal. In command was the 
same grim fighter, and, as he gripped the hand of the 
German monarch, they became firm friends — a friend- 
ship that lasted through life. 

It was now the year of 1898. The battleship Oregon 
was at San Francisco on the Pacific coast. The war- 
clouds hovered over the island of Cuba. 

Pacing the bridge of the great battleship, was the 
commander, now fifty-four years of age, but as full of 
fight as when he fell with four wounds at Fort Fisher, 
and loved and respected by ** every man-jack'' of his 
crew of about eight hundred sailors. 

The great leviathan swung from her anchorage into 
the heaving Pacific, bound on a record-breaking race, 
around a continent and through oceans, that was to 
astound the world. Black columns of smoke poured 
from the funnels, leaving a dark trail far back into the 
horizon, as the great ship forged on her way. Down 
the coast of South America, she ploughed. The gallant 
commander, on the bridge, despite the pain in his knee, 
that had never ceased since that fateful day at Fort 
Fisher, guiding his ship, urging to their utmost the 

—125-^ 



HERO TALES 



tired, straining men in the stoke-hole, deep down in the 
depths of the speeding warship. 

Now they were at the southern point of South Amer- 
ica. With consummate skill the commander pushed 
the great vessel through the treacherous passage of the 
Straits of Magellan. Carefully avoiding the half-sub- 
merged rocks that studded the surface of the channel, 
and heedless of the biting, Antarctic air, the commander 
watched on the bridge, until they passed into the rolling- 
waters of the Atlantic beyond. Skirting the eastern 
coast of South America, the great, gray battleship be- 
gan the second leg of the run. Now she passed into 
the seas of the Greater Antilles ; now into the Gulf of 
Mexico, her flags waving, and the sides of the vessel 
lined with men, anxiously looking for the first landmark 
that would tell them that they had reached — home. The 
great ship Oregon steamed into the bay of Jupiter 
Inlet, off the coast of Florida, greeted by the whistles of 
the other sea-going craft in the harbor. Puffs of smoke 
and flame burst over the quiet waters of the little bay, 
in salute, as the magnificent Oregon came to anchor — 
home at last — after a desperate dash of 14,133 miles 
around a continent, in less than six weeks, without ac- 
cident, — the longest race against time ever attempted 
by any ship of the world ^s navies. 

It was Sunday morning. The American battle-fleet 
lay before Santiago. Standing on the quarter-deck of 
the loiva was the grim sea-fighter, with glass to his 
eyes, peering across the water to the mouth of the en- 
trance to the harbor of Santiago. 

**The enemy comes,'' he cried. It was the same 
ensign of long ago at Fort Fisher, and time had only 
imprinted more deeply the lines of iron-will on his face. 
He was the first to sight the Spanish ships emerging 
from the inner harbor, the first to get his own ship under 

—126— 



THE REAR-ADMIRAL 



way, the first to fire a shot at the fleeing enemy. On 
the bridge, through the whole conflict, stood this 
weather-beaten commander, glorying in the flying 
shells, and the din and crash of battle ; joyons to again 
be permitted to defend the honor of his country. 

Nearly ten years passed. In the waters below the 
nation ^s capital, in Hampton Eoads, lay sixteen ships 
of the republic's navy. On the deck of the flagship was 
the President of the United States, clasping the hand 
of its commander — the same grim fighter of old Fort 
Fisher. The largest fleet of war-vessels that had ever 
undertaken to encircle the globe, moved out into the 
Atlantic, to carry the flag of peace around the world. 
No nation of the earth had ever attempted such a test 
of endurance of men and material. 

^^ Yonder in the Eoads,'' the grim commander had 
said, as he pointed at his ships," are fifteen thousand 
of the best fighting men ever bred on earth, and we 
want the world to know it. " 

The pale blue eyes of the '^old man," as he was 
affectionately called by all who followed his flag, glowed. 
In them could be caught the fire that had inspired his 
men so often in their duty; in the low Southern voice 
lingered the appeal that had aroused them to victory. 
It was such a heart as this that had made him beloved 
by every American, and which prompted an incident 
that took place when his ship once lay in the harbor of 
a great South American city. A ship 's boy was on the 
beach, tossing a baseball — true to the spirit of the 
American youth. A policeman, not understanding the 
stirring emotions of the great national game, attacked 
the lad and brutally clubbed him. The boy returned 
sobbing to the ship. The commander calling him into 
his cabin, washed the blood from his face. 

** Officer of the deck," called out the commander, as 



HERO TALES 



he patted the lad's head, ^^Fiek out fifty of your hus- 
kiest men, give each one a baseball, and send them to the 
beach to play.'' 

An hour later, a frantic chief-of-police rowed to the 
ship, and gained the presence of the commander. 

*^ Admiral! Admiral!" he shrieked. ^* Fifty of 
your men are on shore and have beaten Rio 's police to 
a pulp. ' ' 

*^ That's what I sent 'em on shore for," roared the 
American commander. ' ^ Good morning, sir. ' ' 

As the great fleet moved into the Golden Gates of 
the Pacific, the American people arose en masse to pay 
tribute to its beloved commander. In this, his greatest 
day of triumph, he met also the saddest hour of his 
life. Old, weather-beaten, suffering intensely from the 
wounds of Fort Fisher which he had carried through 
forty-five years, the great admiral stood in review of 
his ships. One by one, they filed by, saluting as they 
passed the flagship, on the bridge of which the beloved 
commander stood for the last time. 

^^They are my boys," he said, ** every one of them." 

A few hours later, the old admiral left his fleet for- 
ever, retired by the regulation of the navy, which fixes 
the age-limit of active service at sixty-two. With grief 
in his heart, he had bade farewell to his men as they 
sank below the horizon of heaving waters on their way 
to the Orient. 

This is the tale of an idol of the American people — 
the kind, determined, grim ** Fighting Bob," — Rear- 
Admiral Robley D. Evans. 



'Hail, son of peak and prairie! 

Hail, lord of coast and sea! 
Our prayers and songs,— onr lives belong, 

Land of our love, to thee!" 

—128— 



THE TALE OF THE CASTAWAYS IN THE 
STORM OFF CAPE HENLOPEN 



This is the tale of the castaways 
In a winter gale at sea, and the nnen who answered the siren 
call from the blinding depths of the stornn. It is a tale of the 
strong hearts that battle with ice-capped breakers to carry succor 
to those who are suffering theltornrtents of the billows of angry seas. 

IT WAS a cold winter day, in 1906 — the eleventh day 
of January. An icy gale was blowing from the 
sea, and a driving snow-storm swept across Cape 
Henlopen. 
**IVe been forty years in this business on the 
coast,*' said one of the men in the life-saving station, 
**but I never saw a harder gale than this.'' 

*^ There's something to learn in every storm," said 
Captain Dan Lynn, as he peered out into the blinding 
snow. 

As he spoke, the siren call of a lost steamship floated 
in on the winds. 

*^Come on, boys," yelled the captain. ** There's 
work to be done." 

The door in the life-saving station rolled back and 
a blast of bitter cold wind beat against the faces of the 
life-men. Far out at sea, in the midst of sleet and snow, 
could be seen the ghostly outlines of a ship tossing on 
the waves. The surf, dashing upon the coast threw 
huge floes of ice on to the shore. 

Three times the life-boat was launched into the sea, 
—129— 



HERO TALES 



only to be tossed back to land^ith an angry roar. The 
life-men were lashed to the shore by a whip-line in 
order to keep them from being sucked out to sea. 

^ ^ Look ! ' * cried Captain Dan Lynn, * ^ Look ! ' ' 

The phantom at sea came thundering toward the 
shore, with its stern raised by a giant wave. As it rode 
the surf, it turned slowly, until it lay broadside on the 
sea, when with a tumultuous crash it broke across the 
outer bar and then against the inner reef, as though it 
had been an egg-shell. The great ship lay so nearly 
flat on its port side that one could almost look down its 
smokestack. The hatches gave way, and people 
swarmed out from them in terror, women screaming, 
children crying, and men falling on their knees and 
offering prayers to God. 

The surf broke on the shore and devoured the flee- 
ing human being like an angry monster. The wind was 
blowing sixty miles an hour. A life cordon of men threw 
themselves into the sea. As the line dragged them 
back to the shore, they held in their arms six half- 
drowned castaways from the wrecked ship. 

There was the roar of a gun. A shot from the life- 
station threw a line with wonderful accuracy over the 
hatch windlass. Mutters and shouts in French reached 
the shore. The modern methods of American coast- 
defense were not familiar to the maddened crew. Ig- 
noring the line that was ready to pull them ashore, the 
desperate seamen cut loose their own life-boat. 

^^Poor fools!" cried Captain Dan Lynn. ^^They 
won't last a minute in that surf.'' 

The hungry surf hissed at the boat as it struck the 
sea, — then tossed it back on the crest of a wave, only to 
swallow it up again in a seemingly bottomless trough. 

^^Fire!" cried the voice of Captain Dan Lynn, as 
the undertow opened its cavernous mouth. 

—130— 



THE CASTAWAYS 



A rocket shot from the coast and the line fell across 
the life-boat. The line was made fast. The ice-floes 
dashed upon the beach. 

^^Into the surf!'^ cried Captain Dan, and hardly 
had he spoken when he and his three mates were lost 
in the blinding storm. The life-savers on the shore 
hauled in the rope, and Captain Dan tottered from the 
sea, his clothes sagging with ice, and in his arms a 
human form. 

^^Here she comes, fellows,'^ he cried. *^Pull!'' 

The life-boat of the wrecked ship rose like a wisp of 
seaweed on the crest of a wave. The life-savers ran 
up the beach, with the land-end of the rope that had 
been thrown with the rocket, to hold her fast when she 
came in on the breaker. But the roaring sea rushed in 
faster than they could^ and swept the French crew from 
their life-boat. Captain Dan and his mates stood 
battling with the surf. There was a mighty tug on the 
lines from the land, and as they came in, soaked and 
dripping, they carried in their arms four French 
sailors. Again the surf swallowed the brave life- 
savers. A wave broke on the shore and three more of 
the French crew were cast upon the land — two of them 
dead. 

Boom ! Another line shot from the life-station over 
the hulk of the wrecked ship. The desperate crew that 
was left on board caught the line of the breeches-buoy 
and tugged heroically. But there was not strength 
enough left in them to draw it quite clear of the water. 
Half of it dragged under the waves, but the life-savers 
pulled and on came the passengers, screaming, and cry- 
ing as they were drenched under that icy surf. On they 
came, ashore at last, half -dead, bruised by the ice, half- 
frozen, and unable to stand, but alive. 

It was ten hours later. Two horses were drawing 
—131— 



HERO TALES 



the life-boat, but the gale wallowing so furiously that 
the faithful beasts gave out, and Captain Dan and his 
mates themselves pulled the car five miles through that 
winter storm. 

The French steamer, Amerique, lay fast on the 
bottom in the inner reef at Seabright, but one hundred 
and sixty-four of the two hundred souls that it carried 
had been saved, saved by the dauntless bravery of Cap- 
tain Dan and his loyal crew. 

^^If the storm hadn't been too stiff,'' said Captain 
Dan Lynn modestly, as he took in his broken hand the 
gold medal which Congress had awarded him for his 
heroism in the government's service, *^we would have 
saved every one of them." 



"Off with your hats as the flag goes by! 
And let the heart have its say: 
You're man enough for a tear in your eye 
That you will not wipe away. 

"You're man enough for a thrill that goes 
To your very finger-tips- 
Ay! the lump just then in your throat that rose 
Spoke more than your parted lips. 

"Lift up the boy on your shoulder high, 
And show him the faded shred; 
Those stripes would be red as the sunset sky 
If death could have dyed them red. 

"Off with your hats as the flag goes by! 
Uncover the youngster's head; 
Teach him to hold it holy and high 
For the sake of its sacred dead." 



■132- 




THE TALE OF THE TROOPERS WHO 
PLUNGED TO THE VALLEY OF DEATH 



This is the tale of the troopers 
who followed their gallant leader into the valley of 
death in the conquest of white civilization against the Amer- 
ican aborigine. It is a tale of the last fight of one of the most 
daring cavalry officers that ever lived or fought under a nation's flag. 

IT WAS in the year 1876. The Sioux Indians in the 
Northwest were in revolt against the white man. 
They had broken away from their reservation up 
in Dakota, and were terrorizing the pioneers 
along the borders. 

The guns at old Fort Lincoln, in the Yellowstone 
country, boomed as the Seventh United States Cavalry, 
with forty Indian scouts, moved out along the trail, 
with the band in the barracks playing ^^ Garry Owen." 
The soldiers in the barrack windows watched them as 
far as their vision could reach, and as they disappeared 
around the bend, there were tears in many of their 
eyes. 

^*It's going to be a hard fight," said one of them, 
*^I'm afraid we may never see the boys again." 

It was a long, tiresome journey. Sometimes the 
little company made ten, sometimes forty miles a day, 
the distance being determined by the difficulties of the 
trail, and the nearness of wood, water and grass. One 
wagon was assigned to each troop, carrying five days ' 
rations, and the mess kit, which, with the regular 

—133— 



HERO TALES 



wagon-train, amounted to abont one hundred and fifty 
vehicles. Each troop horse carried about ninety 
pounds, in addition to his rider. This included one 
hundred rounds of ammunition, besides the two hun- 
dred reserved in the pack train. Camp was usually 
made by three o'clock in the afternoon, so that they 
could be settled for the night by sundown, no night- 
fires being allowed. At the first call for reveille, 
usually at 4:30 in the morning, the stable guards 
wakened the occupants of each tent. The cooks pre- 
pared the breakfast, of hard bread, bacon, coffee, and 
sometimes beans or fresh meat. Within two hours, 
that is, by half -past six, the command was again on 
the march. 

So it was for thirty-five days, when the camp was 
opened on the Powder Eiver, after a journey of five 
hundred miles. Scouts were sent ahead to learn the 
condition of the trail. It was but a few days later that 
one of the scouts hurried into camp. 

*'The Indian trail is close by,'' he reported to the 
commander. ^ ' We are in the hostile country. ' ' 

There was a flurry in the camp. Mules were packed 
with provisions and ammunition, and a detail of two 
men from each company soon left the camp and were 
lost in the forests. 

It was the night of the twenty-fourth of June. The 
fires in the camp of the advance troopers on the trail 
were extinguished and no bugle was sounded. In the 
valley below, and stretching for miles along the Little 
Big Horn, could be seen the glow of the camp-fires of 
the Sioux. 

In the light of the June skies, the bronzed figure of 
an Indian stood on the hills, in the camp of tJie cavalry- 
men, and pointed out the trail as it wound through the 
valley. He was a half-breed Sioux, who had deserted 

—134— 



THE TROOPERS 



his own tribesmen for the camp of the white man. One 
hundred head of horses had been offered, by the Sioux, 
for the scalp of this half-breed deserter. As he peered 
from the bluff into the valley, he shrugged his shouders. 

*'What^s the trouble T' asked the officer. 

*^No can do,'' he muttered in broken English. 
* ^ They too many, they too strong. ' ' 

^'You're a coward,'' grunted the officer. ^* There 
won't be a Sioux left in the valley by another night." 

The sun was just breaking through the clouds on 
the following morning. The call of the bugle ran lightly 
through the camp. It was the officer's call — the first 
in three days. The scene was impressive. The com- 
mander, a handsome and striking figure, six feet tall, 
with long, light hair hanging over his shoulders, and 
wearing a black velvet jacket and a red scarf, stood 
before his officers and issued his orders. The regiment 
was divided into three battalions, each numbering 
slightly over 200 men. The tall commander, seated on 
his spirited charger halted on the hill in front of 
his men. He raised his hat and waving it above his 
head, his blue eyes snapping like fire, he cried : 

^'Follow me, boys, and we will sleep on robes to- 
night!" 

The soldiers broke into cheers, and the hoof-beats 
of the cavalry horses echoed along the mountain path. 

On the farther side of the Little Big Horn Eiver, on 
the edge of the timber, and immediately in front of a 
long bluff, with rocky, precipitous walls, lay the camp 
of the hostile Sioux, the fiercest warriors of the Ameri- 
can northwest. 

As the cavalry swung along the bluffs, they were 
separated into three divisions, in order to approach 
the Sioux as distinct fighting forces, one as a flanking 
party, the other as a reserve, while the great cavalry- 

—135— 



HERO TALES 



man, at the head of his own^olumn, was to plunge 
down the slopes into the very valley of death. 

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon. The 
ford of the river had been reached. Suddenly, the 
piercing yell of the Sioux rang through the valley. 
A terrific blaze of fire and death came from the 
thickets. The cavalry-horses reared on their haunches, 
so close were the flames. Savages poured from the 
ledges and ravines, and swarmed down upon the faith- 
ful battalion of less than three hundred, until they were 
surrounded by two thousand howling warriors. 

An Indian scout who had followed the cavalrymen 
from the Crow reservation — faithful Curly — ^begged at 
the side of his master, **Flee to safety. I know the 
path. See, I have a Sioux blanket ! I will cut off my 
own hair. See, I have paint! I will make you an 
Indian and you can flee to the mountains." 

The graven face of the tall commander looked grate- 
fully into the pleading eyes of his Indian scout. Then 
he shook his head, and raising his hand, waved the 
faithful fellow away. 

The plunging horses, their nostrils almost aflame, 
broke and stampeded down the stream, or to the bank, 
many of them falling, pierced by the volley, to drown 
in the waters. 

The troopers, entrapped by the ambuscade and the 
overpowering numbers, fell back to the hills three 
hundred yards in the rear. 

** Dismount,'' ordered the tall commander. 

The yelling savages seemed to pour from every 
direction in terrible onslaught. 

^* Mount," rang the order from the trumpet. But 
there were few horses remaining. The field was strewn 
with the dead, while the chargers that had survived 
the terrific fire were mounted by Indian lads, or 

—136— 



THE TROOPERS 



squaws, and driven fuming and neighing into the hills. 

It was nine o'clock on that terrible night. The 
Crow scout fell, exhausted, into the camp of the reserve 
command. He was so excited that he could hardly 
speak. He did not know whence, nor how he had come 
there, nor whether his commander was alive or dead. 

On the morning of the twenty-seventh, the troopers 
of the reserve and flanking divisions moved along the 
bluff, after passing through a terrific onslaught from 
the savages. As they approached the ford of the river, 
the banks were strewn with the slain, and there, on a 
barren knoll, surrounded by a circle of white band 
horses, which he had undoubtedly killed to form a 
breastwork, lay the form of the tall commander. 

The troopers lifted their hats, their eyes filled with 
tears, and many of them were choked with sobs. On 
that field, not one remained of the gallant cavalrymen, 
with whom they had parted but a few hours before, the 
hills echoing with their cheers as their daring com- 
mander had cried: ^^ Follow me, boys, and we will 
sleep on robes to-night. ' ' 

That night, as the troopers were in camp, the sound 
of a whinneying horse came from the darkness. The 
soldiers sprang to their feet. There stood a noble 
charger, riddled with bullets and painfully dragging 
his hind legs, which were sorely wounded. 

* ^ Comanche, ' ' the trooper cried. ^^It is Comanche 
— the only living thing from that field of carnage." 
And the noble war horse became the idol of the army. 

This is the tale of the gallant Captain George 
Custer, one of the greatest cavalry leaders that the 
world has ever known. Speak the name of Custer in 
the armies of the nation and there comes but one com- 
ment : * * A braver cavalry officer never lived ! ' ' 



—137— 




THE TALE OF THE HOMELESS GIRL 
WHO FOUGHT IN THE REVOLUTION 



This IS the tale of a homeless girl 
who longed to become a man and go forth to battle for 
her country. The romance of chivalry in the days of knight- 
hood, when Joan of Arc led her flag to battle, does not surpass in 
heroism this tale of a girl's patriotism in the American Revolntion. 

IN a certain village in the County of Plymouth, on 
the coast of Massachusetts, lived a little girl 
named Deborah Sansom, and she was very poor. 
Her parents were worthless characters, and little 
Deborah was ill-treated and neglected. She was finally 
taken from them and sent to live in the home of a kind 
farmer. She had nourishing food and comfortable 
clothing, and was taught to perform the little duties of 
everyday with always a smile on her face. No attention 
was paid to her education, however, and this she felt 
keenly, for she was hungry to learn. There were no 
books in the house, except the family Bible, and this she 
could not understand. She borrowed books from the 
school children as they passed her house, and soon she 
was able to read fairly well. 

When she reached the age of eighteen, she felt that 
she had been deprived of many advantages, and that 
now she was free to do as she wished in the matter of 
education. So she left her home and went to another 
farm where she could work half the day, and the other 
half could attend a district school. Her progress was 

—138— 



THE HOMELESS GIRL 



remarkable. In a few months she had gained more 
knowledge than her schoolmates had amassed in years. 

It was while Deborah was in school, that she heard 
of the outbreak of the American Revolution. The spirit 
of patriotism, that was kindled then in the heart of 
every true American, burned within her. She listened 
eagerly to the news of the war, and longed to be a man 
so that she could go to battle. 

^^I wonder if a girl can't tight for her country as 
well as a man,'' she thought, as she sat watching the 
soldiers pass the window. 

*^I will!" she declared. ^^I will — and nobody will 
know I'm only a girl ! ' ' 

Deborah laid her plans in secret, and by keeping the 
district school through the summer, she earned money 
enough to buy some fustian. Little by little, she made 
this cloth into a man's suit, and hid each piece as it was 
finished, under a haystack. Finally, she left the house 
where she had been living, under the pretense of earn- 
ing better wages. To her intense relief, no one seemed 
to care enough about her welfare to inquire further 
in her plans. 

Deborah was tall and erect in figure. Her face was 
frank and open and good to look at. Her hair was cut 
close to her head. She went to the woods and slipped 
on the boy's clothes that she had made, and looked at 
herself. 

^'I'd like to know," she said, clapping her hands in 
glee, ^^ where you could find a better man than this !" 

**But," she added, ^'I'll have to begin to act like a 
man so that I will not be suspected. ' ' 

It was a cool day in October, in 1778, when a strong, 
erect youth stood before the commanding officer in the 
camp of the American army, asking to be enlisted. 

**Your name!" growled the officer. 
—139— 



HERO TALES 



^ ^ Eobert Shirtliff e, ' ' replied^he youth firmly. 

** Passed/' said the officer, pleased with the young 
man's fine physique. 

Deborah's heart beat wildly. Her ambitions were 
now to be realized. She was a man and was going to 
war for her country! She decided that she must be 
very quiet, and not talk too much, and then she would 
not be so apt to reveal herself. The name of '^Robert 
Shirtliffe" was enlisted for the entire war, and she was 
placed as one of the first volunteers in Captain Thayer's 
company of minute-men in the town of Medway, in 
Massachusetts. Her loneliness attracted the interest 
of Captain Thayer, and he took ^^ Robert Shirtliife" 
into his own home until the company was called to join 
the main army. 

^^He's a fine boy," said the captain. *^ Handsome 
and faithful. We need only a few more lads like this 
and we'll drive the British from American soil." 

Deborah had become so strong, from constant labor 
on the farm, that she was able to perform efficiently the 
duties required of her. Her company was soon march- 
ing on to the battlefield. Shot and shell roared about 
her head, but she stood on the firing line, with a heroism 
that never faltered, and fought for the flag that she 
loved. Her splendid bravery won for her the admira- 
tion of the other soldiers. Twice she was severely 
wounded ; once by a sword-cut on her head, and again 
by a bullet passing through her shoulder, but she bore 
the pain without flinching and refused to be carried 
from the field, insisting that she was not hurt. 

*'It's a brave lad," exclaimed the officers, ^Hhat 
Robert Shirtliife." 

Three long years of warfare passed and *^ Robert 
Shirtliffe" was at the front whenever duty called. He 
said little to his comrades, but he fought like a young 

—140— 



THE HOMELESS GIRL 



tiger, and his courage made him a hero with them all. 
Then there was something in his quiet, gentle manner 
that made them love him ; there was not a soldier who 
would not have risked his life for ^'Eobert Shirtliffeo'' 

One morning the news passed through the camp, 
^^Eobert Shirtliffe is stricken with brain-fever. ' * Sor- 
row fell on the hearts of every soldier in the company. 
Poor Deborah now had a harder enemy to fight than 
the British red-coats. For many days she battled 
desperately to retain her reason. Worse than the dis- 
ease itself, she feared that her secret might be discov- 
erd, and that if she lived she would be driven from the 
army in disgrace. She was taken to the hospital, but 
there she received little attention, because her case was 
considered hopeless and there were many wounded 
soldiers whose lives could be more easily saved. 

Good Dr. Binney, the hospital physician, came in 
one morning. 

**How is Eobertr* he asked. 

**Poor Bob is gone,*' replied the nurse. 

The doctor went to the bedside, and, holding the 
hand of the girl, discovered that the pulse was still 
beating, but very faintly. In endeavoring to quicken 
it, he discovered what he had not before suspected, that 
his patient was not a man. 

*^ Noble woman,'* he said, in his generous, sympa- 
thetic heart. Tears came to the eyes of the strong man 
who had seen so many thousands pass from this army 
to that greater army of the beyond, and at that moment, 
he determined to neglect her no longer; but to bring 
her back to life and strength, if medical skill could do 
it. He ordered the nurses to leave ^ ^ Eobert Shirtliffe ' ' 
to him alone, and to take care of the others. 

**I*11 take care of Eobert,'* he said to them. **You 
have other duties; leave him wholly to me." 

—141— 



HERO TALES 



Many days passed, and poor Deborah began to 
regain consciousness. Then slowly her strength came 
back to her. The doctor greeted her with kindliness 
and spoke gently. 

* * Eobert, ' ' he said, * ^ yon are going to get well. You 
have put up a noble fight, and you have won. I am 
going to take you to my own home where I can give you 
better care.'^ 

The good doctor had decided never to reveal to any- 
one — not even to Deborah — that he held her secret. 

Extremely pathetic is the bit of romance that comes 
into Deborah's life at this time. A young and lovely 
heiress, the doctor's niece, who, out of the tenderness of 
heart was led to do charitable work among the soldiers, 
bestowed many kindnesses upon this unfortunate sol- 
dier. They spent much time together, and steadily 
the affection between them grew stronger. This was, 
indeed, amusing to the good doctor. He chuckled to 
himself, but never gave a hint of his secret. 

Deborah was restored to health, and the time for 
her departure was drawing near. The young girl 
grieved to think she must now lose her soldier. One 
day she came to ^^ Robert'' and confessed her love, for 
she knew that this noble youth would never aspire to 
the hand of so rich an heiress. She offered him the use 
of her fortune to continue his education before their 
marriage. Deborah was overcome. She had not 
realized the depth of this tender girl's affection. She 
would rather give up her life than bring one moment's 
pain to her. What could she do ! She longed to make 
amends, but there was no way, without divulging her 
sex, and this she felt she could not do. Their parting 
was one of the saddest days of Deborah's young life. 

**I am too poor and humble," she said. **You do 
not know me. You could not marry me if you did. But 



THE HOMELESS GIRL 



we will be good friends. I will let you hear from me 
often.'' 

When the time came for the soldier to return to the 
army, Dr. Binney had a conference with the captain of 
the company in which Deborah had served, after which 
she received an order from headquarters to carry a 
note to General Washington. 

Deborah had long been suspicious that the doctor 
knew her secret, but, try as she might, she could get no 
sign from him to that effect ; so she had allowed herself 
to be reassured. But now that he was instrumental in 
sending her to General Washington, she was convinced 
that he was aware of her disguise. 

She hesitated. For the first time since she had 
been enlisted, her courage was failing her, but there 
was no way out of it, and she must go. A few hours 
later, ** Robert Shirtliffe" entered the headquarters of 
General V/ashington. When she was taken into the 
presence of the great general, she was so overpowered 
with suspense and dread that she could not compose 
herself. Washington noticed the nervousness of the 
youth before him, and, thinking that it was caused by 
diffidence, spoke words of encouragement. Deborah 
handed him the message with which she had been in- 
trusted. 

* * Give the soldier some refreshments, ' ' said Wash- 
ington, speaking to an attendant, as he tore open the 
message. 

When Deborah was again summoned into the gen- 
eral's presence, the gallant Washington bowed and 
handed her some papers, but did not speak. The 
papers were addressed to ** Robert Shirtliffe." 
Deborah opened them. 

They were her discharge-papers from the army 
after three years of honorable and courageous service 

—143— 



HERO TALES 



for her country. Among them was a note of praise 
and advice in the handwriting of the great Washington, 
with money enongh to pay her expenses until she 
should be able to find a home. Deborah's heart 
throbbed with thankfulness. She had served her 
country well — and now she held her reward. 

In after years, when Deborah Sansom was happily 
married, and became Mrs. Gannet, she received a pen- 
sion from the government, and in further recognition 
of her heroism she was awarded a grant of land upon j 
which she might spend the rest of her days. ^ 

This, then, is the tale of an American Joan of Arc 
— an American girl who fought under the flag for inde- 
pendence as nobly as any man, and helped to win for 
the world the freedom which to-day beckons to the 
peoples of the earth to come hither and enjoy its 
blessings. 



"The maid who binds her warrior's sash 

With smile that well her pain dissembles, 
The while beneath her drooping lash 

One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, 
Though Heaven alone records the tear, 

And fame shall never know her story, 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 

As e'er bedewed the field of glory!" 



—144— 




BURNING OF SAN FRANCISCO 




Copyright by I'luierwood & Underwood 

RUINED CITY THAT ROSE FROM ITS ASHES 



THE TALE OF THE RUINED CITY THAT 
ROSE TRIUMPHANT FROM ITS ASHES 



This Is the tale of a great city 
that fell under the ruthless hand of fate and was 
shaken from its foundations by a great earthquake, but with- 
out greed or cowardice arose In majesty from its ashes. It is a 
tale of heroism, at the post of duty, in the moment of despair and ruin. 

IT WAS after a terrible earthquake shock had 
shaken the city of San Francisco to its founda- 
tions; a crew of heroic telegraph operators sat 
before their instruments, sending messages to the 
outside world telling of the fearful disaster, and the 
wreck and ruin it had wrought. 

On the morning of the eighteenth of April, in 1906, 
shortly after daybreak — about 5:16 — an earthquake 
had visited San Francisco, while its people were 
wrapped in sleep, and had heaved the streets in gro- 
tesque mounds, twisting the car-tracks in all manner of 
forms, and hurling the once majestic, skyscraping 
buildings to the ground in ragged heaps. Escaping 
gas exploded and set fire to the debris ; soon the great 
city was in flames. 

The roof of the telegraph building had been torn off, 
and the frequently recurring shocks threatened to 
shake the walls in upon the operators, as they heroically 
stayed at their posts, pleading to the world to send 
relief to the stricken inhabitants of the once beautiful 
metropolis of the Pacific slope. 

—145— 



HERO TALES 



In the midst of the horr#f, the little instrument 
ticked : 

**An earthquake hit us at 5:16 o'clock this morning, 
wrecking several buildings, and wrecking our offices. 
They are carting dead from the fallen buildings. Fire 
all over town. There is no water, and we have lost our 
power. I am going to get out of office, as we have a 
little shake every few minutes, and it's me for the simple 
life. *^R, San Fkan., 5:50 a. m." 

This is the first word that the world had of the terri- 
ble disaster that had overcome San Francisco, and the 
message will long be preserved in the records of the 
telegraph company. 

For a brief interval, the anxious operators at the 
New York end of the telegraph line, were without 
further word. They were inclined to believe that the 
first message was the dream of some overwrought 
operator. There was another tremor over the wire. 
This time the superintendent of the force in San Fran- 
cisco, confirmed the first message. A continuous stream 
of messages followed, giving the waiting world a mental 
picture of the horrible scenes being enacted in the ruined 
city; sketches of the raging flames, consuming every- 
thing in their path, even to human lives, were vividly 
drawn. The hurrying crowds, terror-stricken by the 
flames and falling buildings, fled into the hills, some 
carrying the few possessions which they had been able 
to snatch from destruction; others, half-clad, with 
empty hands, caught utterly unprepared, were fortu- 
nate to escape with their lives. White, black, and 
yellow men and women were hurrying along together, 
rich and poor, brothers alike in this time of distress. 

The waiting world could, in fancy, see the raging 
walls of flame, consuming the great office-buildings; 
they could see a fiery finger stretch across the streets 

—146— 



THE RUINED CITY 



and clutch, tlie doomed structures, transforming them 
into raging furnaces of lire, only to sweep on to the next 
block of buildings, leaving the skeleton frames to topple 
tempest of fire. Unheeding the repeated warnings of 
steel and blocks of stone in every direction. 

The heroic soldiers and firemen, as they slowly 
retreated, stubbornly fought the advance of the tor- 
rents of flame, pulling down buildings or blowing them 
up with tremendous charges of dynamite, for the water 
mains had been destroyed by the twisting of the earth 
in its first upheaval. 

All this, and more, was flashed to the world by the 
heroic telegraph operators, seated in the midst of the 
tempest of fire. Unheeding the repeated warnings of 
the soldiers to flee, they stuck to their posts of duty until 
the hotel across the street actually caught fire, and a 
charge of dynamite had been placed to wreck the 
majestic structure in hopes that the flames might be 
checked. 

Suddenly, the little instrument began to rattle: 
** Goodbye,'* and the wire was silent. 

Then came an hour of intense anxiety. The opera- 
tors hovered over the receiving instruments in New 
York, three thousand miles distant, hoping for just one 
more word from their fellow-workers across a conti- 
nent, fearful for the fate of the daring operators. The 
instrument began to click. 

**I'm back in the office, but they are dynamiting the 
building next door, and I've got to get out." 

The chief electrician, still true to his duty, had crept 
back into the endangered building to send the message 
to his chiefs, that the waiting thousands of friends of 
the distressed people in the distant city might have the 
consolation of being in touch with the wrecked city, if 
not with their friends themselves. 

—147— 



HERO TALES 



Then from Oakland, a neighboring town on the 
Pacific, came the news that the operators, remaining at 
their posts in the burning city until the last moment, 
had been forced to flee ; that Oakland had taken up the 
duty and would speak for the destroyed metropolis. 

For three days the fire raged, and the cordons of 
soldiers, sailors, firemen, policemen, and citizens cour- 
ageously fought the overwhelming disaster in vain. It 
was not until ten days after the first shock that the fire 
burned itself out. 

The spirit of the homeless people was touching in its 
helpfulness and generosity. No one tried to take 
advantage of his brother's misfortune. It requires 
more than pain or loss to make tragedy, when the spirit 
of a strong people shows up bravely and nobly to meet 
its fate, as it did in the stricken city of the Pacific. 

As the shock of the first news of the catastrophe 
wore off, the people of the nation rose as one, and 
offered their all in the assistance of the needy refugees. 
Poor or rich, men, women, and children, poured their 
wealth into a common fund for food, clothing, and 
shelter. Great relief trains were loaded with supplies, 
and rushed across the continent with the right-of-way 
over all railroad-systems. Passengers on fast west- 
bound trains saw flying freights rush by, every car 
labeled, *'San Francisco Eelief.'' 

Heroic deeds were of momentary occurrence, cour- 
age and fortitude standing out in grand and spotless 
majesty against the flame-red background of the 
desolated city; but the noblest of all was the spirit of 
the San Franciscans, who, witnessing the destruction 
of their beautiful city in a few short hours, heroically 
set to work and lifted from the still warm ashes, a new 
city that promises to be more beautiful than the city of 
old, — greater, more splendid, and more powerful. 

—148— 



THE TALE OF THE SOUTHERNER WHO 
LOVED TWO FLAGS 



This is the tale of a Southerner 
who, when his loved ones were in danger, fought for his 
home as a father would for his children, and then, when his 
country needed manhood, offered his valor and his life. It is a tale 
of a man who loved two flags and defended them both when duty called. 

IT WAS down in old Virginia, on a November day, 
in 1835, that the hearts in a southern home were 
gladdened by the arrival of a boy. The old home 
for generations had been intensely patriotic, and 
sires and grandsires had stood on the fighting line in 
the American wars. The mother's heart rejoiced that 
now there was another heir to this home of patriotism. 
^^We will send him to West Point," said his mother. 
^^He must be an army man." 

Some years later, the yonth, handsome and manly, 
stood in the lines at the great military institute on the 
banks of the Hudson. His courageous nature and sol- 
dierly manner won him the friendship of his military 
superiors, and he was the idol of his fellows, but his 
impatient courage- thirsted for action. The drills, the 
dash of the batteries, the thunder of the cannon and 
the sweep of the cavalry appealed to his martial spirit. 
The blood of his fathers was in him, and this gallant lad 
longed to be on the battlefield. 

It was not long afterward that the Comanche In- 
dians were in revolt against the Government. Astride 

— 149-— 



HERO TALES 



a gallant charger, at the healPof a detachment of sol- 
diers, sat this youth, now a lieutenant, carrying the 
American flag through the wild and savage lands of 
the West. 

*^It is a dangerous expedition,'' said the major, as 
he detailed the young lieutenant to lead a force against 
the Indians. 

The march was long and difficult, through moun- 
tains and across arid plains ; three hundred miles, with- 
out an incident to break the monotony, until one day 
the soldiers halted, and in a valley below them they 
could see the smoke from an Indian village. 

**Come on, boys,'' ordered the young lieutenant. 
* * It is the Comanches . " 

They advanced stealthily, but the Indians had been 
warned by treacherous allies of the white men, and 
were in a strong position for defense in the dense 
thickets in the valley. 

The Comanche yell vibrated through the hills. The 
savages in war paint sprang forward with their guns 
and bows. 

^ ' It is a death trap, ' ' observed the young lieutenant. 
^*We have been drawn into it by their cunning." 

*^Come on, boys," he shouted, and, with pistol in 
hand, the young lieutenant led his men to the fearful 
struggle between life and death. The fighting was 
sharp and desperate. The combat was hand to hand. 
The canyon resounded with the shots from the soldiers 
and the battle-cries of the savages. 

In the clash and din, stood the young lieutenant. 
With almost superhuman strength, he grappled with 
the savages, now using his sabre and pistol, and again 
relying only upon his own strong arms. 

* ' Ugh ! " He staggered back. A flying arrow had 
buried its head in his breast. He stood for an initant 

—150— 



THE SOUTHERNER 



stunned. Then, waving Ms pistol above his head, he 
shouted: *'Come on, boys! Come on!'' and thrust 
himself into the combat with greater vigor than ever. 

The wound began to weaken him. Sharp pains shot 
through his body. Turning to one of his soldiers, he 
ordered : 

''Pull this thing out.'' 

The soldier grasped the shaft and pulled, but it was 
imbedded too deeply and did not move. 

Throwing himself on the ground and lying at full 
length on his side, the young lieutenant ordered : 

''Put your foot against my side and try it again. 
Pull hard!" 

The shaft gave way and slipped from his breast, 
leaving the arrow-head deep in the flesh. 

"Come on, boys," he shouted, jumping to his feet, 
"Come on." 

Again he staggered — and fell. A shot from the 
Comanches had pierced his lung. He lay unconscious 
on the ground. As the soldiers bore him tenderly from 
the field, the Comanches fled in terror through the 
hills. 

"He's a brave lad," said the Major, "one of the 
bravest I ever saw." 

The arrow was removed from his breast and for 
weeks the young lieutenant lay close to death. 

It was some years later. Time brings many changes. 
The American people were in a fearful conflict of 
brother against brother. Under the flag of the Con- 
federacy, fighting for his beloved Virginia, was this 
same lieutenant, now a major-general. With the same 
daring and courage as of old, he was leading the cavalry 
against the flag under which in years gone by he had 
nearly lost his life, and which he still loved, but from 
which he was now parted by the ruthless hand of fate. 



HERO TALES 



Then the war was over, ^he gallant fighter who 
had lost under the new flag, retired to his plantation 
in old Virginia, his conscience clear hut his heart sad. 

Years passed, and the *'call to arms'' again swept 
the country which had grown great in its power and 
was now taking its stand for freedom in the cause of 
a weaker brother, ordering Old Spain to release the 
chains that bound Cuba. 

In the front ranks, under the Stars and Stripes, 
rode a stalwart figure, his sword at his side, and sitting 
in his saddle as if born to battle. The strains of martial 
music echoed along the lines. Shot and shell raged 
about him. As the smoke cleared away, there were 
cheers and shouts and waving of flags. There sat the 
old fighter, once again under the flag with which he 
won his first victory as a young lieutenant, and now 
wearing the epaulets of a major-general of volunteers 
in the American lines against the Spanish. 

It was a bright, tropical day when the major- 
general entered the city of Havana to the strains of 
the national anthem of the republic, the Stars and 
Stripes waving above him. 

^* All hail to the Governor of the province !" shouted 
the throngs. ^^This is the new American governor." 
And the Cubans, in their joy, almost kissed the ground 
upon which he walked. 

Thus it was, that the name of Fitzhugh Lee, became 
one of the most beloved by the American people ; and, 
when some years later, he passed to the great army of 
eternity, two flags floated over his grave, and these 
words were on the lips of the people: *^IIe was a foe 
without hate. ' ' 



—152— 




THE TALE OF THE GIRL CANNONEER 
WHO WON A SERGEANT'S HONORS 



This is the tale of a cannoneer's wife 
who followed her husband into battle and stepped to 
his post of duty at the gun when he fell mortally wounded. 
It is a tale of a woman's valor and a race that has always 
stood strong whenever the glorious flag of freedom is in danger. 

IT WAS the twenty-eighth day of June, in 1778. 
The great armies, which were engaged in one of 
the world's most decisive struggles, were on the 
plains of Monmouth along the hills of New Jersey. 
Eiding up and down the lines of the American 
forces was the great Washington, urging on the sol- 
diers of freedom with words of encouragement and 
command. 

The brilliant uniforms of the British glittered in 
the sunlight, and at their head rode the gallant General 
Clinton, whose military bravery had won for him the 
admiration of Europe. 

The fighting was fierce and determined. There did 
not seem to be a coward under either flag. Shell and 
shot were mingled with the roar of the cannon, and the 
beat of every instant left a martyr on the field. 

The issue of the battle was doubtful. Neither side 
knew which was to be the victor, for triumph seemed 
within the grasp of either, at the instant. 

Suddenly, the officers of the American lines were 
seized with consternation. 

—153— 



HERO TALES 



**Eetreat!" was the ordemilliat rang through their 
ranks. The soldiers, who were pushing their way 
gallantly toward the enemy, hesitated an instant in 
dismay. They could hardly believe their own ears. 
The lines were broken by fear, and the men turned in 
every direction, bewildered. 

Retreat — at the moment of victory! Such a thing 
had never been known in the annals of war. 

^^Halt!^' rang the command through the lines. 

The great Washington, with anger in his face, 
dashed along the field. 

**Back to your places!*' he shouted. *^How dare 
you retreat in the midst of this battle f 

The soldiers, blushing with shame, fell back into 
line. 

^^How came this confusion T' demanded Wash- 
ington of General Lee, who was in command of the 
forces. 

*^I do not know, sir," replied the general. '*The 
order came from the ranks." 

''Can you hold command, now?" inquired Wash- 
ington. 

''I can, sir," replied General Lee, *'and I will be the 
last to leave the field." 

The battle again was on — ^with fiercer daring than 
ever. The men were fighting under the new inspira- 
tion. In the thickest of the conflict was an Irish lad, 
named Tom Pitcher, who had come to cast in his for- 
tunes with the new land. Not for an instant had he left 
his post as artilleryman, even in the call for retreat. 

''I'll not retreat," he had muttered, *'as long as 
there is another man on the field to fight." 

By the side of this brave lad was a young woman, 
scarcely out of her girlhood. It was Molly, his wife, 
and her face was set with determination. 

^154— 



THE GIRL CANNONEER 



**I will follow Tom througli the army/' she had 
said. * * I can help the soldiers when they are in trouble, 
and I can stand it as well as he. ' ' 

The laughing eyes and keen wit of Molly had 
brought cheer to many of the heart-sick soldiers. 
Patiently she had administered to their needs, and 
tenderly she had bound their bleeding wounds. Under 
the fierce fire of the battle, she had slipped through the 
fighting line to the brook nearby and brought water for 
the parched throats of the soldier boys. The day was 
intensely hot. Once more Molly ran to the brook and 
returned with the cooling water to quench their thirst. 

^ ' Here is another pail of water, ' * she shouted good- 
naturedly. 

The words had hardly escaped her lips, when a 
deadly ball whizzed past her head — and Tom lay life- 
less at her side. A sob choked her, but, without a 
moment's hesitation, she sprang to the gun by which 
the brave cannoneer had fallen. Standing behind the 
great gun, she lighted the fuse. Fire burst from its 
mouth. Boom! Boom! It echoed across the battle- 
field. Again she fired, and again, reloading it with the 
agility of a trained artilleryman. 

^^We will take charge of that gun," said one of the 
soldiers. 

''Stand back,*' replied Molly. 

The cheers of the soldiers rang down the line. The 
battle was near its end, but there in the ranks stood 
Molly Pitcher — a cannoneer. 

When the battle was over, and the British were in 
retreat, the soldiers gathered about her to praise her 
courage, but she could not hear their words. The brave 
little woman had sunk to the ground over the lifeless 
body of her Tom, sobbing as though her heart would 
break. 

—155— 



HERO TALES 



The next day the story <# Molly Pitcher passed 
through the camp. General Greene listened to it atten- 
tively. A few moments later he entered Molly's tent. 

^^Come, my brave girl,'*' spoke the General. **I 
want to take yon to General Washington." 

Molly, with true feminine instinct, glanced down 
at her tattered garments. She was begrimed with 
powder and battle smoke. 

Only a moment she hesitated. Then she said, **I'll 
go, General, but you'll have to take me just as I am." 

As they reached the tent of the great commander, he 
arose with his grave and stately manner, and with a 
courteous bow to the Irish girl, ho extended his hand. 

**You made a brave stand at the gun," he said. **I 
am going to give you the honor of a sergeant's com- 
mission. You will have a sergeant's pension as long 
as you live!" 

Such is the tale of Molly Pitcher — the girl-sergeant 
of the American Eevolution. It is seldom that a 
woman is called upon to meet such a test of courage as 
this; but the test of fortitude still comes to women 
every day in another way — in the home and in the paths 
of duty. 



'Now, woman, bow your aching head, 
And weep in sorrow o'er your dead! 

*And since she has played a man's full part 
A man's reward for her loyal heart! 
And Sergeant Molly Pitcher's name 
Be writ henceforth on the shield of fame! 

*Oh! Molly, with your eyes so blue! 
Oh, Molly, Molly, here's to you! 
Sweet honor's roll will aye be richer 
To hold the name of Molly Pitcher." 



—156— 



THE TALE OF THE AIRSHIP THAT FELL 
FROM THE CLOUDS 



This is the tale of the mastery 
of the air and the men who offered their lives to 
prove a theory of science, defying the dangers of the ele- 
ments to solve a problem that had puzzled the brains of man for 
centuries, but which to-day is being mastered by the genius of inverrtion. 

T WAS the eigliteenth day of September, in 1908. 
On the parade grounds at Fort Meyer, just out- 
side of the national capital at "Washington, were 
gathered the military engineers of the United 
States army, discussing the methods of warfare of the 
future. The armies of the nations were alarmed by 
the rumors of a new contrivance of science which was 
to make war more deadly than ever before; a con- 
trivance by which, while soldiers were asleep on their 
arms, a great black monster would creep over them in 
the clouds and unloose the furies of modern explosives 
upon them. Such was its diabolical power that whole 
armies would be swept from existence at the very mo- 
ment of victory. 

There were rumors of a great war between England 
and Germany. It was whispered that regiments of 
the Kaiser's soldiers were then secreted in London, 
ready to capture the great capital of the British Em- 
pire; and that Germany had solved the mystery of 
aerial navigation, and at the first break of friendly 
relations between the two great powers of the Old 

—157— 



HERO TALES 



World, huge military balloons wonld steal across the 
English channel and destroy its foremost city. 

These were the wild reports, partially credited in 
military circles, that were made more astounding by 
the truth that England was in fear and that the popu- 
lace were actually haunted by the apparition in the 
clouds. That France and Germany were engaged upon 
secret experiments concerning the mastery of the air, 
was well known. That America, most progressive of 
all nations, could ill afford to ignore the problem of 
military operations in the clouds was the consensus of 
military opinion throughout the army and navy. 

This was the occasion of the gathering of military 
strategists on the Fort Meyer parade-grounds that day. 
Two Americans, the Wright brothers, had thrown con- 
sternation into the armies by riding through the air 
in strange contrivances which soared like birds, circ- 
ling over cities and rising and alighting with grace, at 
the will of the man at the wheel. Wilbur Wright, one 
of the brothers, was at this time astounding France 
with his daring journeys into the skies, and royalty 
was gathering about him to pay homage to his genius. 
The great Count Zeppelin was driving his dirigible 
balloon across the valleys of Germany, only to be 
wrecked by a storm at the very moment of his triumph. 

On this September day, Orville Wright, who had 
remained in the United States, in conference with his 
home government, was to demonstrate his mastery of 
the strange machine which he and his brother invented, 
and which was known as the aeroplane. Though 
heavier than air, the aeroplane could fly like an eagle. 
He had proven many times his own daring in ascending 
into the clouds alone, but on this day he was to demon- 
strate that his aeroplane could carry two men with 
safety. This was in military opinion a great achieve- 

—158— 



THE AIRSHIP 



ment, for thus it was made possible for an officer of 
the army to rise into the clouds in company with an 
engineer who could survey the **lay of the land'' and 
the enemy's lines. 

A young officer, Lieutenant Thomas E. Selfridge, 
of the United States army, was to make the ascent with 
the genius of the aeroplane. 

The wizard, Wright, had been making successful 
flights for some weeks, to the astonishment and delight 
of the American military strategists, for the purpose 
of convincing the Government that the aeroplane was 
now a perfected machine for warfare.. 

The event of the day, which was to further develop 
its possibilities, had created the keenest interest. Lieu- 
tenant Selfridge was in a sense the central figure of the 
occasion. It is in these men, who dare to risk their 
lives for the solution of some problem, that may revo- 
lutionize society, that real heroism dwells. 

The weird aeroplane was rolled on to the parade- 
grounds. An anxious crowd gathered around it. Mili- 
tary officers discussed its mechanism. The inventor 
tested its intricate *' nerves" and ** muscles,'' as though 
it were a living, breathing thing. There were moments 
of interesting delay when the confident inventor re- 
marked : 

*^Are you ready T' 

*^I am," replied Lieutenant Selfridge. 

The men stepped into the machine and were seated. 
The spectators cheered as the aeroplane throbbed and 
then seemed to rise like a bird. 

**Is there any word that you want to leave?" asked 
one of the officers jovially to the lieutenant as they 
waved farewell. 

^^If I don't come back, goodbye," hie called good- 
naturedly. 

—159— 



HERO TALES 



The strang'e macliine wav^d above their heads. 
Then it seemed to catch the breath of the winds. It 
sailed and soared with the grace of the lark. The spec- 
tators broke into spontaneous applause. Again and 
again, it encircled the parade-grounds in the clouds. 

**It is wonderful," exclaimed a military officer. 

*^The science of aerial navigation is solved," re- 
marked another. 

The crowd again broke into cheers, — ^but in an in- 
stant the aeroplane seemed to halt. It shook as if in 
a convulsion. Then, without further warning it dove 
headlong toward the earth. 

^^My God," cried a military officer. ^^She is fall- 
ing ! ' ' 

The hearts of the spectators almost stopped beating. 
They stood aghast, too frightened to speak. The weird 
machine struck upon the earth and was dashed into 
pieces. Beneath the wreckage lay the two men. The 
inventor Wright was hovering between life and death, 
but the body of Lieutenant Selfridge was lifeless. He 
had met instant death. 

Sorrow rested over the great throng. The man who 
possibly had come nearer the conquest of the air than 
any other living man, except possibly his brother, lay 
for days in the hospital fighting that greatest of con- 
querors — Death. 

The body of the brilliant young military officer, who 
had been graduated with high honors at West Point 
and held the implicit confidence of his government, was 
laid to rest. 

Thus it was that aerial navigation claimed one of 
its early sacrifices. But the genius, Wright, won his 
battle with Fate, and some months later returned to 
his conquest of the air with greater determination than 
ever before. 

—160— 




THE WRIGHT AEROPLANE IN CONQUEST OF THE AIR 




Copyright by Underwood & Fnrterwood 

DEATH OF LIEUTENANT SELFRIDGE 



1 




THE TALE OF THE WATAUGA BOYS IN 
THE CHARGE OF KING'S MOUNTAIN 



This is the tale of woodsmen 
who heard that their courage was challenged and rose 
to defend their honor. It is a tale of the hardihood of the 
forests, in which strong men who had lived close to the heartfof 
nature, carried the spirit of liberty into battle and won a decisive victory. 

ALONGr time ago, back in 1769, down in the moun- 
tains of the present Tennessee, there settled 
on the banks of the Watauga River, a band 
which soon became known throughout the 
region as the ^^ Watauga Boys.'' Most of them had 
come from Virginia and were exploring the new coun- 
try as soldiers of fortune. On the river they built a 
stronghold as a place of refuge from the Indians. 

The hearts of these woodsmen knew only the free- 
dom of nature, and the tyranny of the British along the 
coast did not reach their mountain home, until about the 
time that the American Revolution began. Word came 
from the forests of the bravery of the ** Watauga 
Boys," and their fights with the savages, but little was 
known of their life except that their fort had grown 
into a settlement, and that a strange government had 
been established there, in which the men of the woods 
ruled themselves on a basis of freedom and equality. 

The British were now sweeping the South, and along 
the coast down to Georgia were everywhere conquering. 
The Americans were becoming disheartened. The men 

—161— 



HERO TALES 



of the country were mostly m the army farther north, 
and it was left largely for the women and children to 
protect their lives and their homes. 

During an attack on one of the settlements, the 
British soldiers, knowing that the men of the place were 
away at the North, approached the fort. 

*VBoom!'' There was a quick report, followed by 
flashes of fire. With deadly aim the balls fell into the 
ranks of the British soldiers. 

^^Halt! What means thisT' shouted the com- 
mander. 

Another volley of shot fell in their midst. 

^^The Americans are here!^' shouted the officers. 
*^ There are men in the fort. See, they stand at their 
guns ! ' ' 



The confusion was such that the British soldiers, 
who were carelessly armed, in the confidence inspired 
by their uninterrupted conquest, hurriedly retreated 
without an attack on the fort. The "men'^ there were 
no other than women and children disguised in the 
clothes of their fathers and brothers, who were fighting 
with Washington farther up the Atlantic coast; and 
they had won their first victory. 

These were, indeed, dark times for the Americans. 
Provisions began to fail. The losses on the battlefields 
were threatening to leave a nation without men. Such 
was the suffering and starvation that when the British 
entered Charleston, in South Carolina, humanity and 
wisdom demanded that the patriots unfurl the white 
flag. There was great rejoicing among the Tories 
throughout the nation. 

**The South is ours!'' shouted the British soldiers 
as they hurried their couriers with the glad tidings to 
the North and then across the seas to the King. The 
wise General Clinton had purchased the friendship of 

—162— 



THE WATAUGA BOYS 



the savage Cherokee Indians, and they were to lay siege 
to the whole Southern country, while the British sol- 
diers pushed on to the North and united their forces 
with the King's colors in the vicinity of New York, for 
a last great victory that should crush the defiant spirit 
of liberty from the Western continent, and resound as 
a warning to the peoples of the earth. 

The Indian warriors were marching to the north 
to join the British forces. One day, as they passed 
through the mountains that separate the Carolinas and 
Tennessee, a yell rang out that shook them with fear. 
There, before them in the mountain-pass, were strange 
men not in the plumes of warriors, but wrapped in bear- 
skins, their heads covered with furs and with foxtails 
nodding from them. The Indians fled in terror. 

So nonplussed were the British by the failure of 
their plans that they sent a commander with twelve 
hundred men to scour the mountains and gain the sym- 
pathies of the woodsmen. 

It was early in October, in 1780, when Colonel 
Ferguson, one of the King's most skilled riflemen, 
swung into the foothills and pushed his way into the 
backwoods and mountains, crushing the patriots and 
driving the Tories into the British service. 

*'I warn you that if you do not keep the peace, I 
shall find it necessary to attack you,'' were the words 
that he sent ahead to the mountaineers. 

The *^ Watauga Boys" were holding a great barbe- 
cue. Oxen and deer were roasting over the fires, and 
the feast was at its height, when one Shelby rode to the 
river bank, hot from hard riding, and brought them the 
word from Ferguson. 

<<yery well," exclaimed the feasters, ^^we will save 
them the trouble ! ' ' 

Sixteen hundred men, in buckskin and bearskin, 
—•163— 



HERO TALES 



carrying long rifles, and mounted on tough, shaggy 
horses were soon swinging along the river banks and 
into the mountain paths. Their hunting shirts were 
girded in by bead-worked belts, and the trappings of 
their horses were stained yellow and red. 

Three days later, Colonel Ferguson's men were 
still in the wilds of King's Mountain, the thickly- 
wooded rock ledge on the borderline between North 
and South Carolina. 

All night long the backwoodsmen rode the dim forest 
trails and forded the rushing rivers. 

* ^ The Watauga Boys are coming ! The backwoods- 
men are in the foothills!'' reported a rider from the 
outpost, rushing into camp. 

*^Let them come," growled the brave King's rifle- 
men. ^ ^ No army on earth would dare open battle with 
us on this mountain ledge." 

The dauntless colonel, however, as a matter of 
precaution, sent back for reinforcements, as he won- 
deringly surveyed from the craggy ledge this strange 
foe. 

*^ Charge! Down upon them! Charge!" 

The voice of the colonel of the King's regulars rang 
across the cliffs. 

His men, with set bayonets, charged headlong. 
There was a yell like that of the beasts of the forests. 
These bear-skinned denizens of the woods stood their 
ground. There was the cracking of a thousand rifles, 
and every man who dared enter the mountain-pass 
meant another man dead on the rocks. 

Never in all their experience in the wars under the 
King's colors had the regulars met such fighters as 
these, as strong and as brave as lions, and with an aim 
that was sure and rapid. The brilliant uniform of the 
British colonel glittered in the light, as with his sword 

—164— 



THE WATAUGA BOYS 



gripped in his hand, he daringly led his own men to the 
charge — now down one side of the mountain, now down 
the other. The backwoodsmen stood their ground with 
steady aim, falling back at the point of the bayonets, 
only to plunge forward again nearer and nearer the 
ledge with their deadly fire. 

Colonel Ferguson raised a silver whistle to his lips 
and signaled his men. The shrill note rang through the 
listening ranks. He now sat astride his horse, with 
sword drawn for the charge. A terrific blaze of fire 
swept the bayoneteers. 

*' Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!*' 

The cheering echoed down the valley. 

The backwoodsmen had gained the ridge! There 
on the crest of King's Mountain stood the brave Sevier, 
Shelby, and Campbell, the Watauga Boys' daring 
commanders. 

The British regulars and Tories dispersed in con- 
fusion. 

A white flag was thrown to the breeze. 

*^Down with that flag!'' shouted the gallant Fergu- 
son in rage. 

^'On! On!" he cried. ^^Charge!" 

^'Steady, boys, aim." 

There was a crack of the rifles. 

^'Ferguson! Ferguson!" was the cry. 

The great, white war horse was riderless. Its 
gallant colonel lay on the mountain rocks. Seven bullets 
had entered his body, and one had pierced his heart. 

Once more the white flag swung to the breeze. 
Nearly four hundred of the King's men lay dead on the 
battle-ground. Twenty-eight of the Watauga Boys 
were sleeping on the heights of King's Mountain. The 
victory was won. From this day the Americans stub- 
bornly fought their way to the final triumph. 

—165— 



THE TALE OF THE ENGINEERS WHO 
FATHOMED THE BLACK CANYON 



This is the tale of modern 
engineering; a tale of men who risk their lives 
in performing feats such as the world has never before known, 
whose courage and skill reclaim lost regions to civilization and con- 
quer the mighty forces of nature to increase the riches of all mankind. 

THE days were the last of the nineteenth century. 
Five men stood on the bank of the Gunnison 
Eiver, gazing into the seething water, three 
thousand feet below. It was a fearful sight, 
the water whirling along, dashing house-high over im- 
mense boulders, and throwing its spray high up the 
sides of the sheer, rocky banks. With handshakes and 
farewells to the little crowd who were watching them, 
the five daring men lowered themselves into the canyon, 
even to the brink of the angry torrent below, and 
landed on a narrow ledge of rock. 

Up to the watching men above was wafted the sound 
of revolver shots, the signal that this little band were 
off on their dangerous journey. In their puny boats, 
made of oak frames covered with canvas, they were 
soon whirling down the wild stream. The rocks in the 
river could be seen, but indistinctly. The high preci- 
pices on the sides of the river cut off the light of day, 
shrouding the wild waters in a depressing gloom. The 
men in the boats were drenched By the ice-cold spray, 
thrown twenty feet in the air, as the water dashed 



THE ENGINEERS 



against the boulders. On they flew, their keen, watchful 
eyes on the alert for the treacherous rocks. Time and 
again they were dashed to the shore, and, pulling their 
boats after them, they climbed over the slippery rocks 
that obstructed their progress. The canyon grew 
narrower, and they were forced to tie themselves 
together in order to prevent being shot down the racing 
stream as bullets from a gun. 

At four o^clock in the afternoon, what little light 
filtered into narrow fissures in the earth's crust, was 
wholly blotted out by the grim cliffs, and the river was 
in complete darkness. Then the little band of men 
halted for the night, and ate a meal of cold, soggy food. 

Damp and chilled, they laid themselves down on a 
great rock for the long night in the fearful canyon, until 
eight o'clock in the morning, when the sun had sent a 
little of its light into the gorge. Sleep was almost impos- 
sible to the exhausted men. The mad rush of the angry 
water, plunging against their rock, dinned in their ears 
all night, almost stupefying the senses. Stiff and sore, 
they resumed their journey in the morning, battling 
their way down the canyon, the little boats whipped and 
battered by the tremendous power of the seething 
water. All day they continued on their mad trix), at 
night lying on a rock, and twisting and turning in their 
fitful slumbers, constantly disturbed by the tremendous 
reverberations of the rushing stream. 

For five days they traveled on, slipping over rocks, 
floundering through shallow pools of ice-cold water, 
and working their hearts out in the terrible struggle. 
Their food was failing, and they were growing weak 
for want of rest and nourishment. Energy and vitality 
ran low, and, to the sufferings of the body, were added 
the torments of the soul. Somewhere ahead was a 
chance, but only one in a thousand, of finding an avenue 

—167— 



HERO TALES 



of escape from this fearful, tomb-like place. It was a 
time to try the soul. 

The men were carefully picking their way along 
when, with a horrifying roar, a mass of stone came 
hurtling down upon them from the heights above. With 
a tremendous splash it struck the river in front of them, 
sending the water high up on the side of the canyon, 
to settle back into the racing stream with a suction that 
nearly swept the brave men otf their feet. Looking up 
at the place whence the awful mass of rock had come, 
the little band of five men saw figures on the brink of the 
cliff, thousands of feet above them. The wall in front 
was sheer and impassable, cutting them off from their 
f ellowmen as surely as though they were in their graves. 
For half an hour they gazed at the running figures far 
above, the first sign of life that they had seen since 
entering the fearful gorge, five days before. They 
could hardly tear themselves away from the sight, to go 
on in that dark chasm, perhaps never to come out ; but 
finally they arose, and crawling and limping they 
passed on out of sight of the figures on the banks. 

For three weeks the men endured this fearful ordeal. 
Then they came to a place where they realized they 
could not penetrate further. The gorge narrowed and 
deepened. They were obliged to swim in the ice-cold 
water, clutching the gunwale of the boat as a drowning 
person clutches a life-preserver. The walls had nar- 
rowed to twenty-eight feet, and were smooth as glass 
and almost perpendicular. Through the narrow pass 
the water rushed like a mill-race. The men stood on the 
brink, gazing at the torrent. To enter it meant practical 
suicide — but there was no turning back now — they must 
go on. Then they did what all human beings do when 
they are at the end of their own strength — they bowed 
their heads and prayed for succor from God. 

—168— 



THE ENGINEERS 



^^Witli our present equipment we can go no further, 
but the Black Canyon is not impenetrable,'' the in- 
trepid leader of these explorers, W. W. Torrence, of 
the Keclamation Bureau of the United States Govern- 
ment, wrote in his note-book, and then replaced it in its 
rubber covering. The sun next morning found the 
desperate men clinging to the side of the river-bank of 
sheer rock, 2,500 feet high and almost as smooth as 
glare ice. 

Using the tripod legs of their survey-outfit as 
alpenstocks y they struggled foot by foot up this terrible 
cliff, clutching for hand-holds in the cracks of the rock, 
Torrence in the lead, each man cautiously paying out 
the slack of rope that bound them together. Weak and 
exhausted after their weeks of privation and their 
almost superhuman fight with the forces of nature in 
the canyon, they painfully crawled upward like flies. 
By noon, the pangs of hunger were gnawing at their 
vitals, but they could not stop to eat. A thousand feet 
below them was the whirling water; towering 1,500 
feet above them was their goal. The men followed on 
after their leader, buoyed up with the nervous strength 
of men fighting for their lives. 

Toward late afternoon despair seized one of the 
men, who realized that they could not make the top 
before night came upon them, and that they would have 
to stand, clinging to their slight hand-holds, for twelve 
interminable hours. It was with difficulty that his com- 
rades prevented him from casting himself into the 
abyss at once, and persuaded him to creep on with them, 
inch by inch, until, when within five hundred feet of the 
top, night closed in upon them with a rush. 

The climbers were in a dreadful plight. Spending 
the night on the side of that towering cliff seemed 
beyond human endurance, and it was decided to push 

—169— 



HERO TALES 



on in the dark. For five long hours they groped their 
way upward. Utter exhaustion was seizing upon them, 
and they were all almost ready to give up and fall back 
into the chasm. Torrence, still in the lead finding the 
foot-holds for his followers, cheered and urged them 
on. Suddenly, his hand touched a twig, and he gave a 
ringing shout, for he had seized an overhanging bush 
of sagebrush, and he knew that at last he was at the top, 
under God's own starry sky — saved! Panting, reeking 
with perspiration, one after the other the men pulled 
themselves over the brink, and on hands and knees crept 
clear of the edge. Then, to a man, they collapsed. 

Within a year the daring Torrence had completed 
plans for another trip through the fearful canyon, and 
with his fellow-engineer, A. L. Fellows, started off to 
encounter over again the terrible experiences of the 
first expedition. Armed with a rubber, air-inflated mat- 
tress, instead of a boat, on which to float or rest, they 
reached the point where the first expedition was forced 
to give up and flee for safety. 

They threw themselves into the raging waters of the 
narrow pass, and were hurled along at a fearful rate, 
to be dashed out at the other end with the speed of a 
bullet. For days the daring engineers suffered terrible 
privations. 

Suddenly rounding a bend in the river, they came 
upon a fearful sight ahead. The river dropped com- 
pletely out of sight under a frowning cliff. At the brink, 
the water was raging in whirlpools. Undaunted, and 
with the determination to do or die, they plunged into 
the water, and were swept along in the maelstrom, 
taking blind chances of perishing from being dashed 
against the rocks or sucked under the current. Through 
the black tunnel they whirled, the waves tearing at them 
as if endeavoring to pull them apart. After an interm- 

—170— 



THE ENGINEERS 



inable length of time they were spat out of the water 
into clear air. Then, like frightened children, these 
strong men, relieved at last of all fear, clasped each 
other in their arms and laughed and wept. 

*'Who says that the Black Canyon is impassable T' 
exultantly cried Fellows. 

These two brave men had traversed its whole extent, 
where no human being had ever ventured to set foot 
before, and from their report the government was able 
to deflect the raging waters of the Gunnison River into 
the arid desert below it, adding immensely to the wealth 
of Colorado. For the sake of humanity, Torrence and 
Fellows had accomplished what none had ever dared 
before, and what probably none will ever undertake 

again. 

They had proved to civilization that the forces of 
nature are all slaves to the wonderful power of man; 
that there is nothing on the face of the earth that 
courage and skill cannot master. 

The torrents that raged and roared about these dar- 
ing engineers, threatening to devour them or to dash 
out their lives against the rock-bound walls, have cowed 
to the will of man. To-day that raging river follows 
the hand of engineers submissively six miles through 
the base of a great mountain in Colorado and causes 
300,000 acres of volcanic dust to ''bloom like a rose" 
under its refreshing waters. 



'Tis Done— the wondrous thoroughfare 
Type of that Highway all divine! 

No ancient wonder can compare 
With this, in grandeur of design. 

"For. 'twas no visionary scheme 

To immortalize the builder's name; 
No impulse rash, no transient dream ^^ 
Of some mere worshipper of Fame.'* 

—171— 



THE TALE OF THE LOST SHIP AND 
THE LOST CREW 



This is a tale of tine mysterious 
disappearance of a brave commander and Pils ship and crew 
in the hour of victory, it is a tale of valiant men who carried the 
American flag to triumph on the seas, proclaiming a new power In 
the world's commerce, and then was lost—no one will ever know where. 

IT WAS during the war of 1812, between England 
and the new republic of the western continent. 
The little American navy, with its few frigates 
and sloops-of-war, had won a series of hard- 
fought victories against the larger and more powerful 
navy of England. For years the British navy had 
ranged the seas, secure in the belief that it held the 
naval supremacy of the world. 

But a few years before, 1776-81, these two nations 
had been engaged in a fearful struggle on land, and 
though the Americans had wrested their freedom from 
the mother country, the English had nothing but con- 
tempt for them. They believed that they could easily 
dispose of the comparatively insignificant navy of the 
young nation. The little ships did look pitiful beside 
their greater opponents. They did not have trained 
sailors and commanders like the English, but they did 
have courage and patriotism, and with undaunted spirit 
they engaged the larger ships of the English and bore 
many of them off in triumph as prizes, to the great 
astonishment of the world, as well as of the English. 

—172— 



THE LOST SHIP 



The sloops of the Americans had been built with 
care, and with an eye especially to speed. The stoutest 
of them all was the Wasp, commanded by the gallant 
South Carolinian, Captain Johnson Blakeley, and 
manned by as brave a crew as ever trod a deck. In 
1814, the little sloop was commissioned as a privateer, 
to prey upon the navy and commerce of Great Britain. 
She was equipped with twenty thirty-two-pound car- 
ronades and two ^4ong Toms.^^ Her crew consisted of 
one hundred and seventy men — a mere handful in com- 
parison with the six or seven hundred men of a modern 
ship. 

Early in the year of 1814 the little privateer set out 
for the enemy in the English Channel, venturing to the 
very doors of her foes. Upon reaching the English 
shores, the daring Wasp cruised up and down in the 
very path of the enemy's battleships and merchantmen, 
and harried the British commerce without mercy. 
Hither and thither she flew, now engaging a merchant- 
man under convoy, and, again, escaping from the pur- 
suing frigates by her superior speed and the skill and 
vigilance of her intrepid commander. 

These operations continued for some time, and the 
Wasp still seemed to bear a charmed life. One fine 
morning in June, 1814, while in pursuit of two mer- 
chantmen, the British ship Reindeer hove in sight, and 
though weaker than the Wasp, both in guns and number 
of men, she promptly took up the gage thrown by the 
privateer. Captain Manners, one of the most daring- 
men of the British navy, was in command of the British 
ship. 

Soon, the beat of drums called the sailors of the 
Wasp to their stations, and the Reindeer responded. 
The day was fine, the sea calm and smooth, with a light 
breeze stirring. On the forecastle of the Reindeer a 

—173— 



HERO TALES 



carronade had been set up, and when the vessels were 
within range this was fired point blank at the American 
ship. Five times the carronade was discharged at the 
Wasp, and did terrible damage. The two vessels then 
came together with a crash, and were locked yard-arm 
to yard-arm. 

The muzzles of their cannon were almost touching 
as they exchanged charge after charge. The din was 
terrific. Shot poured into the hulls of the ships, and 
splinters were flying about, more deadly than the shot 
itself. Sailors up in the tops could not see the deck, 
because of the clouds of smoke and flying splinters. 

The havoc wrought on the English ship was terrible, 
and the brave commander. Manners, had been wounded, 
but still was issuing orders, though weak and faint. 
The Americans were fighting like demons, and when 
the English sailors charged with a rush to carry the 
Wasp, they were met with pike and pistol, and were 
driven back to the stricken Reindeer, which was now 
settling. 

Again the English sailors, led by their brave cap- 
tain, tumbled on board the Wasp, and again were driven 
back, this time with great loss. Captain Manners fell 
with a ball in his head, as brave a man as ever fought 
against great odds. 

The Americans now changed tactics, and rushing 
for the side of the Reindeer, were instantly on board, 
in the midst of the wreckage, fighting like savages and 
sweeping the decks before them. The English flag was 
pulled down, and the Reindeer was safely within their 
possession, another prize added to the long list. 

The Wasp burned the sinking ship after taking off 
the prisoners, and set out for other prey, elated with 
its victory. The dauntless little sloop engaged in sev- 
eral battles and took many prizes. She was a continual 

—174— 



THE LOST SHIP 



menace to the unwary British ships, and made the 
highways of the seas dangerous for British commerce. 
On the ninth of October, she met a Swedish brig, the 
last vessel ever to see her afloat. From that day she 
was never seen, and no trace of the brave commander 
or crew was ever found. 

She may have been wrecked on some deserted coast, 
or sunk in a furious storm, but no certain knowledge 
of her fate has ever been ascertained. The gallant little 
ship and all on board must have perished in one of the 
myriad forms of peril that is faced by those who sail 
the seas ; and when she sank there went down as brave 
a captain and crew as ever sailed from any port in the 
defense of their country. 



"O'er the high and o'er the lowly- 
Floats that banner bright and holy 

In the rays of Freedom's sun, 
In the nation's heart embedded, 
O'er our Union newly wedded, 

One in all, and all in one." 

"Let that banner wave forever. 
May its lustrous stars fade never. 

Till the stars pale on high; 
While there's right the wrong defeating, 
While there's hope in true hearts beating, 

Truth and freedom shall not die. 

"As it floated long before us, 
Be it ever floating o'er us. 

O'er our land from shore to shore; 
There are freemen yet to wave it, 
Millions who would die to save it. 

Wave it, save it, evermore." 



—175— 



THE TALE OF THE LITTLE KANSAN 
WHO CONQUERED A SAVAGE RACE 



This is the tale of a Kansan 
who, by his cunning and courage, led the chief of 
a rebellious people into captivity under pledge of peace and 
loyalty. It is a tale of the days when American civilization was 
sweeping the islands of the Far East under the glorious flag of freedom. 

THE day was .tlie fourth of March, in the year 
1901. In the city of Manila, in the Philippine 
Islands, a man, in the nniform of an American 
army officer, boarded an army tug headed for 
Cavite, up the coast. The man was small in stature, 
weighing only about 125 pounds, with fearlessness and 
determination written on his face. He was a native 
of the State of Kansas, and, without the slightest 
knowledge of military maneuvers, he had enlisted in the 
Cuban army as an artillery officer, to fight against their 
Spanish oppressors. He served the Cubans with honor, 
but tiring of their haphazard methods, which were 
apparent even to this amateur in warfare, he left for 
New York, to return later with the American army of 
invasion as an officer. 

The war was soon carried to the Philippines, on the 
other side of the earth, and thither this courageous man 
hastened when the strife in Cuba diminished. His was 
a nature that demanded action. 

On this bright day, his mind full of daring plans, 
he sailed for the barbarous parts beyond Manila. At 

—176— 



THE LITTLE KANSAN 



Cavite, he transhipped to the gunboat Vickshurg, and 
was off on the second part of his difficult mission, 
accompanied by a number of native Macabebes, Taga- 
los, and a Spaniard. The native Filipinos were queer- 
looking little men, dressed in the still queerer uniforms 
of blue jean, or white and blue, or all white uniforms 
of the insurgent Filipinos. Necessity required that 
this band of invaders should conceal their true identity, 
for they were about to enter the jungles of the country, 
where the enemy carried on their horrible guerrilla 
warfare. 

Pilillo Island was passed, and the full effect of the 
monsoon was felt as it swept over the ocean, raising 
great waves about the little gunboat. At about ten 
o'clock that night, the anchor was dropped in the Bay 
of Kasiguran, about five hundred yards from the out- 
posts of the enemy. Three boats were lowered, and, 
under cover of the intense darkness, landed their pas- 
sengers on the beach. The barefooted party, in the 
midst of a tropical downpour, threw themselves down 
on the sand, to snatch a few hours of rest before begin- 
ning the arduous task before them. Without blankets 
they lay, drenched by the falling rain, until daylight. 

At dawn they started on the twenty miles to Kasig- 
uran. It was a remarkable exhibition of bravery on 
the part of the officer and his men, for they were march- 
ing through a comparatively unknown region, peopled 
by hostile and treacherous natives, and practically 
without provisions or reserve ammunition. The 
Americans had assumed the character of prisoners of 
war, and Hilario, a Macabebe, supposedly the com- 
mander of the expedition, led the little band of brave 
men over boulders, through tangles of vines and trees, 
up precipices, on to Kasiguran. 

In spite of their caution during the landing from 
—177— 



HERO TALES 



the Vickshurg, a native haa seen them and had sent 
word on ahead, and the town was in an nproar when the 
struggling body of soldiers reached it. But Hilario 
reassured the townspeople, obtained food and lodgings 
for his supposed prisoners, and here they lay for two 
days, resting after their hard journey. 

While recuperating for their march of ninety miles 
into the island to their objective point, a letter was dis- 
patched to the wily captain of the guerrillas, Aguinaldo, 
purporting to be from General Lacuna. It commended 
the party to the favorable notice of the insurgent leader. 
The reply to the letter served a double purpose; food 
was sent to the supposed prisoners, and their captors 
were instructed to treat them well. It was apparent 
that their true mission was not suspected. 

When about five miles from Palanan, the little party 
were met by a guard sent by Aguinaldo to relieve the 
Filipinos of their prisoners. Marching the group of 
Americans and friendly Filipinos through the town, 
they drew up in front of the house in which Aguinaldo 
was seated, surrounded by his officers and bodyguard, 
drawn up to receive them with honor. Hilario went 
into the house to report to Aguinaldo, leaving the 
Americans and Macabebes outside, under the guard of 
the insurgent soldiers. The moment was critical. 
While Hilario was receiving the congratulations of 
Aguinaldo, there came a shout from outside. "The 
time of the Macabebes has come ! Fire ! ' ' 

A rattle of musketry followed, and though the little 
band of invaders was greatly outnumbered, the insur- 
gents took to their heels and fled to the woods beyond. 
Inside the house, Hilario, at the signal, had sprung 
upon the guerrilla leader and had borne him to the 
floor. Calling for assistance from his soldiers, who had 
deserted their commander, Aguinaldo desperately 

—178— 



THE LITTLE KANSAN 



struggled to escape. Into the house rushed the heroic 
real commander of the expedition, General Frederick 
J'unston, U.S.A., and threw himself upon the rolling 
figures on the floor. 

Soon, their united efforts had the insurgent general 
under control. Lifting him to his feet, they took him 
out to the front of the house and were greeted with 
cheer upon cheer from their comrades in this desperate 
expedition. The elusive, treacherous insurgent leader, 
Aguinaldo, who had harassed the American soldiers 
unremittingly and had extorted ransom from the peace- 
ful natives of the island, was at last powerless to con- 
tinue his atrocities. 

The Americans now prepared to return with their 
prisoners to the distant coast, their course lying 
through the forests, over boulders, up precipices, and 
through rivers, perhaps the most difficult of all the 
paths in this island of jungles. 

Day after day this intrepid leader led his band of 
courageous men, over obstacles which were almost 
insurmountable. "Wearily they struggled along through 
the thick tangle of trees, always on the alert for foes 
who could come upon them without the slightest 
warning. 

Without mishap, they finally reached the coast, 
where the gunboat was supposed to be in waiting for 
them. Its officers had been anxiously surveying the 
rough and inhospitable shore for days, sailing up and 
down its length, keenly watchful for signs of the daring- 
band. Doubts of the success of the expedition began to 
assail them, but they still continued the search up and 
down the forest-clad shore. On the afternoon of the 
24th of March, as the boat was nearing Palanan Bay, 
a great cloud of smoke burst from between two head- 
lands on the island, ten or fifteen miles away. The 

—179— 



HERO TALES 



gunboat steamed up, and rushed to the point where a 
flag was waving the brief message, ^^We have him.'' 

Back went the signal—' ' Bully ! " The little band of 
heroes on shore did not understand the word, and again 
exultantly signaled, ''We have him.'' Then the ship 
answered, "Well done." 

Boats were hurriedly dropped into the water and 
rowed to the shore. General Funston and his successful 
men and their captive were hurried into them and 
rushed back to the gunboat. As they approached the 
ship, cheer after cheer greeted them in recognition of 
their daring achievement. 

The gunboat turned and steamed for far-distant 
Manila, which they reached on the evening of the 27th 
of March, landing their prisoners under cover of dark- 
ness, and locking them in the Governor's palace for 
safety. The next afternoon the official report was given 
out, and Funston and his men were the heroes of the 
hour. Cannon boomed out the brigadier's salute of 
eleven guns, and the sailors greeted them with rousing 
cheers that thrilled the hearts of the little native scouts. 
Aguinaldo's reign of terror was over, thanks to the 
heroic General Funston and his daring band of Maca- 
bebes and Tagalos, native soldiers, who were fighting 
on the side of the Americans in the cause of freedom 
and justice. 



"O Land of Promise to all earth's oppressed, 
Lead thou Humanity's supremest quest, 

And to all nations cry, 'Let there he peace!' 
Stay Strife, that has filled the earth with tears: 
Set free our brothers from their hopeless fears; 
And let our Flag throughout all future years 

Proclaim to all the world that War must cease!' 



—180— 




THE TALE OF THE IMMIGRANT GIRL 
IN THE HARBOR OF A NEW WORLD 



This is the tale of an immigrant girl 
whose first duty in the new America brought her before 
the eyes of the Nation; whose unconscious heroism in an hour 
of tragedy carried her to the Halls of Congress, where she was hailed 
by statesmen and honored by the Government of the United States. 

IT WAS the fifteenth day of June, in 1904. In the 
convalescent ward of the hospital on North 
Brother Island, in New York harbor, there sat a 
little, sixteen-year-old girl, gazing out of the 
window onto the waters of East River, that crowded, 
busy stream of New York, through which ships of all 
nations bring their cargoes to the great metropolis of 
the New World. As far as her eyes could reach, there 
were to be seen tall, tapering spars of sailing vessels, 
the sooty funnels of the steamships belching volumes 
of smoke, the great bridge-spans connecting the 
Borough of Manhattan with its sister Borough of 
Brooklyn, loaded with an endless stream of moving 
vans and people, all busily engaged in their various 
vocations. 

This was all intensely interesting to the little 
immigrant girl in the great hospital, for she had but 
lately arrived in America from Ireland. She had come 
to this country a little more than a month before this 
bright summer morning that was to be known as the 
** Darkest in New York's Harbor History." Shortly 

—181— 



HERO TALES 



after landing in the New World, she had been stricken 
with scarlet fever and taken to the hospital, where she 
was now convalescing, and, though still weak, was 
greatly enjoying the sight of the busy craft on the river. 

Suddenly, there was the clang of the fire-alarm. 
Again it sounded. Looking about to see the cause, she 
saw a great excursion steamship, the General Slocuni, 
headed for the island. The boat was crowded with little 
children and their mothers. From all parts of the 
vessel flames were pouring and hissing. The panic- 
stricken passengers were rushing to and fro. Every- 
thing was in the utmost confusion. Mothers were 
rushing about, with their little ones clasped closely in 
their arms, seeking a means of escape from the burning 
steamship. The crew were endeavoring to quiet the 
passengers, but their best efforts could not prevail 
against the frightened women and children, who but a 
short hour before had embarked on the boat, anticipat- 
ing a day of relief from the summer heat at a neigh- 
boring pleasure resort. 

The little girl in the hospital saw all this in a brief 
glance, and knowing that stricken passengers would 
need the help of everyone, even of a sixteen-year-old 
girl, just risen from a sick-bed, she rushed to the beach. 
The first one she saw in need of assistance was a small 
boy struggling in the water, half drowned, and almost 
ready to give up the battle for life. Shouting a word of 
cheer, she rushed into the river, seized the child and 
turned to battle her way back to the shore. Eeaching 
the beach, this heroic little girl bundled her prize in 
blankets that some thoughtful person had provided, 
and giving the precious burden to a bystander, she 
turned again to her duty. The top deck of the steam- 
ship had by this time given way and crashed down on 
the ill-fated passengers, throwing some of them into 

—182— 



THE IMMIGRANT GIRL 



the water, while others were pinned down to be con- 
sumed by the angry flames. 

The steamer was now a mass of roaring, hissing 
flames. The nearby waters were filled with shrieking 
and drowning men, women, and children, who had 
chosen a death by water rather than by fire. 

Undaunted by the fearful sight, our little girl- 
heroine again rushed into the debris-strewn water. 
Out in the stream, further away than the first little 
victim, another little boy was feebly struggling against 
the terrible odds. His strength was failing fast when 
she reached him. Grasping his arm, she turned to the 
shore. Impeded by her clothing, choked by the dense 
smoke of the burning wreck, she fought her way inch 
by inch back to safety ; hands reached up from beneath 
the water in their last death struggles grasping for a 
hold. Drifting timbers from the wrecked steamer 
buffeted them, but shielding the little boy as best she 
could, she struggled on until she reached the shore. 
Leaving the boy to kindly hands there, she again started 
on her heroic work of rescue, though almost exhausted. 
As she stepped into the water, the little lad called after 
her: 

*^ Please save my little brother. He is out there. ^' 

Utterly regardless of her weakened condition and 
of the terrible risk that she was taking^ she rushed into 
the midst of the wreck-strewn river to another gasp- 
ing boy, and brought him to the shore through the 
terrible mass of wood and blackened bodies. Again 
and again this heroic little Irish immigrant labored to 
snatch these endangered lives from the hands of Death. 

The burning of the steamer General Slocum was 
the scene of innumberable deeds of heroism and self- 
sacrifice. Men released their hold on floating wreckage 
to give women a chance for their lives. Young girls 



HERO TALES 



calmed their frenzy of fright to tear from their own 
bodies the life-saving belts and bind them about babies 
whose cries touched their hearts in that awful hour — 
the young, unknown heroines sinking in sacrifice to the 
bottom. 

The work of rescue was carried on for hours, until 
all the living were dragged from the water, or their 
bodies recovered. The General Slocum was a complete 
wreck, beached on the shore of North Brother Island. 

The world stood aghast, horror-stricken, at this 
fearful accident that cost nearly one thousand lives, 
while the numerous deeds of daring and heroism 
thrilled the hearts of the nations. Heroes in every 
walk of life may be found on the roll, and the record of 
the darkest day in the history of New York harbor is 
brightened by golden letters which tell of high courage 
and self-sacrifice. 

But none were nobler than those of the sick, little 
Irish immigrant girl. The little child heroine, Mary 
McCann, was honored by the United States Govern- 
ment. She was called to the House and given a gold 
medal, not in pa^Tiient for her services, which can 
never be repaid, but as a mark of appreciation by the 
American people of her high courage and daring. 



'Wo have read of the courage of heroes 
Who follow at Duty's call, 
Who face the fight with power aud might, 
Soldiers and sailors and all— 

'Then take this word to our women, 
Sisters and mothers and wives, 
Take this word to the nobler race, 
That leads the nobler lives." 



-184— 



THE TALE OF THE PRIVATEER THAT 
FOUGHT FOUR SHIPS OF WAR 



This is tlie tale of a privateer 
that upheld the honor of the American flag in the face 
of defeat. It is a tale of ninety men who tested their strength 
against a fighting force of two thousand and withstood the superior 
power for ten hours, leaving their ship only when it burst into flame. 

IT WAS a bright December day, in 1814. The little 
privateer, General Armstrong, was lying in the 
Portuguese port of Fayal, in the Azores. The 
United States and England had been engaged in 
the warfare for two years, and, though the English 
ships were larger and better equipped than the small 
navy of the new nation, they had been put to their 
mettle to keep up a semblance of their boasted power. 
The American sloops-of-war were very fleet, and could 
slide up to the larger British ships, fire a broadside, 
and turn and run, before the cumbersome English 
vessels could maneuver into position to annihilate, with 
their batteries of guns, the daring little vessels. 

On this December day, four English ships, a ship-of- 
line, a frigate, and two brigs, were headed for this port 
of shelter, where the little American sloop was anch- 
ored. Suddenly, the Americans sighted the fleet of 
formidable ships off the harbor entrance, and, though 
the port was neutral, the brave commander knew that 
the Portuguese government was friendly to England, 
and that the English would not hesitate to violate the 

—185— 



HERO TALES 



laws of neutrality, if, by so doing, they could annihilate 
this little privateer, which had destroyed many of their 
merchantmen. 

The anxiety on the Armstrong was great. The odds 
were fearful — this little boat pitted against four of the 
best of the English navy, with trained fighters and 
overpowering cannon. 

The privateer was anchored close to the shore, inside 
of the harbor. The courageous captain gave orders to 
clear the decks for action, and threw out the boarding- 
nettings to repel boarders. The guns were loaded and 
thrust forward, ready to hurl their shot into the 
enemy's ships when they should attack. 

The English commander soon observed the little 
American boat, nestled close to the shore inside the 
harbor, and with glee started on the offensive. The 
shoals at the entrance prevented taking the heavy ship- 
of-line and the frigate in, and the calm and currents 
hindered the movements of the lighter sloops-of-war. 
Boats, filled with sailors armed to the teeth, were 
dropped from the sides of the English vessels, and they 
prepared to overwhelm the American ship by boarding 
it with a superior number of fighting men — a favorite 
method of the English in those days in engaging the 
ships of France and Spain. In this case, they did not 
reckon on their opponents. 

An American sailor stood behind each gun on the 
Armstrong, ready for the enemy. The English boats 
were rapidly approaching. Now they were within 
range. A spurt of flame flashed out from the side of 
the Armstrong and a shot went hurtling over the bay, 
crashing into the leading boat. Again a cannon roared 
out its defiance, and the splinters flew from another of 
the attacking fleet. 

This was enough for the English officers, and they 
^186— 



THE PRIVATEER 



sounded a recall. Back to the ships hurried the boats, 
anxious to be out of reach of the accurate fire of the 
General Armstrong, 

The English captains were enraged at the repulse 
and decided to attack the brave defenders under cover 
of night. 

The day wore on with no further action. Night crept 
over the water, and the ships were enshrouded in dark- 
ness. A dozen boats, with muffled oars, filled to the 
gunwales with determined men, bent on the destruction 
of the little privateer, stole across the water. There 
was not a sound to warn the Americans that their foes 
were upon them. 

Suddenly, a streak of flame from the motionless 
Armstrong cut the darkness in twain. Again the guns 
belched forth. In the light of the discharging cannon 
could be seen the grim figures of the American gunners, 
calm and collected in the face of the great odds, sight- 
ing and firing their guns at the oncoming boats. The 
boats steadily came on, in the face of the rain of fire, 
for they were manned by seamen accustomed to battle, 
and danger had no terrors for them. 

Hacking and slashing at the boarding-nets, striving 
to cut their way through, and, unheeding the terrible 
rain of shot, the British tars worked, while the Ameri- 
cans, with pike and cutlass, fought in the protection of 
their ship. Now the enemy were through the defenses, 
and clambering over the sides. 

A terrible struggle ensued. The night was rent by 
the cries of the combatants, the light of the discharging 
muskets and cannon, and the heavy trampling of the 
fighting men, as they surged back and forth, in all the 
tumult of a hand-to-hand struggle. The battle waged 
furiously. At last, the desperate Americans, under 
the command of the gallant Captain Eeid, rallied, and, 

—187— 



HERO TALES 



with fierce cries, drove back the English across the deck 
and into the sea. 

This ended the struggle. The crippled English, in 
their remaining boats, slowly drew off to their ships, 
utterly defeated by the little crew of the American ship, 
ninety in all. The English lost half of their attacking 
force, while the Americans lost but nine. Hoarse cries 
of victory rang through the night, and the British com- 
modore, maddened with anger and humiliation, deter- 
mined to utterly destroy the gallant privateer. 

The next day, an English sloop-of-war was warped 
into position to blow the American out of the water; 
but, before she could bring her guns to bear, shots from 
the American ship struck her repeatedly and the sloop 
had to draw out of range, crippled. Filled with rage, 
the English threw all caution to the winds and again 
returned to the attack. This time they drew nearer and 
opened up iire with their heavier guns. The gallant 
little General Armstrong was at their mercy. Soon the 
privateer was in flames, and the brave Ca^jtain Samuel 
Reid and his valiant sailors were forced to abandon 
the ship that had so courageously resisted the attack of 
four of the flower of the British navy. They escaped 
inland, and, though the English succeeded in destroy- 
ing their ship, it had cost them dearly, for they lost 
more than twice as many men as the whole American 
crew. 



'But the name of Reid and the fame of Reid 

And the flag of his ship and crew 
Are brighter far than sea or star, 

Or the heaven's red, white, and blue: 
So lift your voices once again 

For the land we love so dear, 
For the fighting Captain and the men 

Of the Yankee Privateer." 



■188— 



n 



THE TALE OF THE MIDNIGHT RAIDERS 
WHO RODE THROUGH LINES OF DEATH 



This is the tale of twenty-nine nnen 
who outwitted a sleeping army and carried away their cap- 
tives. It is a tale of men who are willing to sacrifice their 
lives in their devotion to a cause which is dearer to them than 
life, who overcome almost impossible barriers for the flag that they love. 

IT WAS during the early months of 1863. The 
Union troops, stationed in front of Y/ashington, 
were being harassed by the Confederates under 
Colonel John H. Mosby. The depredations were 
carried on with great daring by the gallant commander 
of the Confederates, and the Union soldiers, try as they 
might, could not catch him. 

On the afternoon of the seventh of March, 1863, 
Colonel Mosby, with twenty-nine mounted men, left 
Aldie to make a raid on the Union headquarters at 
Fairfax Court House. Jogging along the roads, on 
their fleet horses, this band of fearless men were bent 
on one of the most dangerous feats imaginable. 

In the gathering dusk of the late winter afternoon, 
they were getting within range of the cavalry pickets. 
It had now grown pitch-dark, and they were within the 
lines of the Union army, an extremely critical position, 
which only served to increase their alertness. Gallop- 
ing along the road leading to the headquarters, their 
objective point, they were halted by command from out 
of the darkness. 

—189-- 



HERO TALES 



"Who comes there!" 

Hearts stopped beating. Were they discovered to 
the enemy? 

''The Fifth New York Cavalry," was their answer, 
and were allowed to pass on. The friendly night had 
saved them. Eiding slowly on, they were halted again 
and again by the Union pickets, who were satisfied with 
the reply, ''The Fifth New York Cavalry." It was too 
dark for the sentinels to see that the uniforms the 
riders wore were not those of the Union army. They 
had no idea that any Confederates would be so fool- 
hardy as to ride into their lines. This was just what 
Mosby had depended on. 

They had arrived in front of headquarters without 
their true identity being discovered. It was past mid- 
night, and'their work had to be done quickly. Detailing 
men to go after prisoners and horses, the doughty 
leader, with a few men, set out after Lieutenant-Colonel 
Johnstone. Knocking on the door, it was opened by 
Johnstone's wife who recognized the uniforms. 
Believing her husband to be in danger, she fought back 
the men until her husband had time to escape through 
the back door, clad in his night clothes. 

Disappointed at the escape of the officer, the men 
retired to the rendezvous, where they met their com- 
rades who had been more successful, bringing in a 
number of prisoners and fine horses. The prisoners 
were dumbfounded at the act of daring. Learning that 
General Stoughton was at his home in the village, this 
intrepid officer determined to capture him, and sallied 
forth. Arriving at the house, an upper window was 
thrown up, in answer to a knock at the door. 

"AA^o is there?" called someone from the open 
window. 

"We have a dispatch for General Stoughton." 
—190— 



I 



THE RAIDERS 



The door was opened and the men rushed upstairs 
to the side of the bed in which the General had been 
sleeping. 

"You are my prisoner/' cried Mosby. 

"What?" exclaimed the incredulous General. 

"I am Mosby. Stuart's Cavalry holds this place, 
and General Jackson is in possession of Centerville. " 

The deceit was necessary. Had the General known 
there were but twenty-nine men in Mosby 's command, 
there would have been different results. The Confed- 
erates were in great danger, for in addition to several 
thousand Union troops quartered in the village, there 
was a considerable number at Centerville, a short dis- 
stance off. There was need for the greatest caution 
and haste by the valiant cavalrymen. Surrounding the 
prisoners, who outnumbered them four to one, the 
victorious little band started on their return to their 
lines several miles distant. Between them and safety 
lay thousands of Union soldiers, always watchful and 
ready to fire at the slightest suspicion. 

In the darkness, the prisoners could not distinguish 
the cax)tors from the captives, and believed that they 
had been captured by a superior force. During the 
ride, they made several attempts to escape, only to be 
overtaken and brought back to the rapidly moving 
cavalcade. 

Ahead of them lay Centerville, with its sleeping 
thousands of Union soldiers. Making a detour to the 
left, they soon left that danger far behind. But their 
difficulties were not over. They had to pass the cannon 
in the forts. The break of day had come, and they 
could be easily seen by the men there, who believed 
them to be a detachment of Union cavalry out on an 
early morning expedition. The daring little band 
passed so close to the forts that they could hear the 

—191— 



HERO TALES 



sentinels on the walls exchanging challenges. Passing 
under the very noses of the watch-dogs of the Union, 
they swept on to the distant goal. 

They reached the Cub Eun Kiver, to find that it was 
badly swollen and too deep to ford. They were still 
within range of the guns in the Union forts. They 
could not hesitate, for the danger was great ; the day- 
light was growing brighter. 

Driving their prisoners before them, they plunged 
into the raging water and swam their horses across to 
the other side, inside of the Confederate lines ! 

The brave band of cavalry raced on to Culpepper 
Court House, gay and joyous, in the flush of their 
extraordinary achievement. Colonel Mosby rode up 
to his commanding officer, Colonel Stuart, and turned 
over the captured Union officers and men. 

Colonel Stuart was so impressed by the courage 
and daring of the brave Mosby, that he published a 
general order, in which he characterized the act as ^ ^ a 
feat unparalleled in the war. ' ' 



"The guns are hushed. On every field once flowing 
With war's red blood, May's breath of peace is shed, 
And, spring's young grass and gracious flowers are growing 
Above the dead. 

"Ye gray old men whom we this day are greeting, 
Honor to you, honor and love and trust! 
Brave to the brave. Your soldier hands are meeting 
Across their dust. 

"But braver ye who, when the war was ended. 
And bugle's call and wave of flag were done. 
Could come back home, so long left undefended. 
Your cause unwon. 

"All this you did, your courage strong upon you, 
And out of ashes, wreck, a new land rose, 
Through years of war no braver battle won you, 
'Gainst fiercer foes." 

—192— 




GUNNISON CANYON, WHERE THE ENGINEERS BEGAN THEIR PERILOUS JOURNEY 




LIFE-RAFT IN GUNNISON TUNNEL 



WHERE ENGINEERS WERE IMPRISONED 



1 



THE TALE OF THE COPPERSMITH WHO 
AROUSED HIS PEOPLE 



This is the tale of the coppersmith 
whose midnight ride in the cause of liberty has 
left his name on the lips of the children of the Nation. It Is 
a tale that is treasured in the hearts of each generation, and will 
be told at the firesides of American homes as long as the Nation lives. 

IT WAS in the month of April, in the year 1775. The 
town of Boston, Massachusetts, was occupied by 
the English soldiers; and in the harbor lay the 
warships of His Majesty, King George, with their 
frowning guns directed upon the town. At the street 
corners, cannon were planted and sentries posted. 
Citizens were challenged, as they passed along the 
streets. Numerous clashes between the soldiery and cit- 
izens occurred, and the feeling of hostility was intense. 
In the early evening of the eighteenth of April, a 
little boy was seen to leave the Green Dragon Inn, and 
hurry along the streets to a quaint-looking, little house. 
He delivered a message and turned away. About ten 
o'clock that night, a man, wrapped in his great-coat, 
peered cautiously out at the door, and, finding the street 
clear, hurried away in the shadows of the houses, pass- 
ing groups of red-coated soldiers and their officers, and 
answering challenges, but never being stopped. 

Now he was on the banks of the Charles Eiver. In 
the stream was a small row-boat, manned by two 
thickly-clad figures with muffled faces. 

—193— 



HERO TALES 



**A11 right/' said the stranger, and they pushed off 
into the middle of the stream. With steady strokes they 
rowed across. A dim shape loomed up in front of them. 
It was the great Somerset , a British man-of-war. Close 
under its shadows the boat passed, and out into the light 
beyond. At last, the opposite shore was reached, and 
the stranger leaped from the boat. 

He rushed up the street leading from the river, and 
rounded a corner. Coming toward him was a small 
group of men. After a moment's hesitation, he started 
on again and greeted the oncoming men. They drew 
close together and parleyed in low tones. One of the 
men pointed out over the water in the direction whence 
the stranger had come, and there, over the town of 
Boston, lights were seen in the steeple of a church. 
Every man in the group knew these lights to be signals. 

Presently, the stranger hurried on, and coming to a 
house which was shrouded in darkness, he quickly 
roused its inhabitants. Around to the rear he hurried, 
soon to reappear, mounted on a horse. Out along the 
road the horse galloped, carrying the stranger, whose 
face was drawn with tense excitement. Soon they were 
in the open country, dashing along the shady roads 
under the moonlight. 

The pounding hoofs wakened the people as the horse 
approached. Windows were thrown up. Heads peered 
out at the racing horseman. Cries were exchanged and 
the horseman was off to the next house, spreading the 
warning. Mile after mile the brave man rode, arousing 
the countryside. 

Midnight passed, but still he kept up his gruelling 
pace, though his horse was streaked with foam. The 
houses which he had passed were quickly lighted up and 
through the windows figures of men might have been 
seen running about, donning their clothes, and seizing 

—194— 



THE COPPERSMITH 



their muskets. Then they, too, mounted and hurried on 
after the flying figure far in front. Into the town of 
Concord at length dashed the foam-flecked horse and its 
rider. Up the main street he flew, soon to be surrounded 
by eager men, listening to the news. 

^^The British are coming,^' were the words that sent 
them off in every direction, to prepare to receive King 
George's red-coated soldiers in a manner that showed 
the spirit of the patriots. The weary but happy mes- 
senger had accomplished his heroic task, which was to 
ring down through history forever. 

Along the road from Charles town to Lexington and 
Concord, farmer-boys, with muskets over their shoul- 
ders, marched beside their fathers and grandfathers, 
aroused by the midnight ride of the coppersmith from 
Boston. 

This is the tale of the ride of Paul Eevere, soldier 
and patriot; the tale that has been on the lips of men 
ever since that memorable day, the eighteenth of April, 
in the year 1775, at the very beginning of the American 
Eepublic — the name that will be ever on the lips of its 
children as long as the Eepublic stands. 



"You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
How the British Regulars fired and fled.— 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, 
Chasing the red-coats down the lane. 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

"For, borne on the night-wind of tlie Past, 
Through all our history, to the last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 
And the midnight message of Paul Revere." 

—195— 




THE TALE OF THE TELEPHONE GIRL 
WHO WARNED THE VALLEY 



This is the tale of faithfulness 
to duty in every day's work, of unselfish fidelity that 
takes no heed of self but thinks only of others who are in 
peril. It is a tale of a modern science through which two hundred 
people werewarned of an onrushing flood and urged to flee fortheir* lives. 

1,T WAS the twenty-eighth of August, 1908. In the 
central office of the telephone company at Folsam, 
in New Mexico, the night operator, a young 
widow, sat alone. There was little work for the 
operator at eleven o'clock at night, and she had but a 
few calls to answer. The two hundred subscribers on 
the Folsam line retired early, and it was more as an 
emergency measure than anything else that the little 
woman was stationed at the lonely little frame central 
station on the banks of the Colorado Eiver. There were 
those who marveled at her courage in staying alone, 
night after night, in the secluded little station, but she 
merely smiled when questioned, and replied that when a 
crisis should arrive she would be ready to meet it. She 
was a general favorite with the subscribers. It was her 
pride that she knew every one of them by name ; knew 
where they lived, and knew much of their history. 

Suddenly, the buzzer on her switchboard told her 
that a subscriber, nearly twenty miles up the river, was 
calling her. She connected the wire and answered with 
her customary cheery ^' Hello,'' 

—196— 



THE TELEPHONE GIRL 



' ' Mrs. Eooke, ^ ' called an excited voice. * ' There has 
been a big cloudburst up the canyon. The river is 
rising rapidly. At the rate the flood is coming, it will 
reach you in about half an hour. It will sweep away 
your office. You have plenty of time now to make your 
escape. Get out while you can. Goodbye.'^ 

That was the emergency for her to face. There was 
time for her to get out — plenty of time. But there on 
the desk before her lay the list of subscribers, over two 
hundred of them. Most of them lived along the valley 
and were now peacefully sleeping, unconscious of the 
danger that was sweeping toward them. Unless she 
could warn them in time they would be caught in their 
homes ; caught and drowned in the death trap. It was 
not a part of her duty to warn them — not a part of her 
duty to the telephone company, nor to the subscribers, 
but 

Ten miles up the river a feeble, old couple were 
roused from their sleep by the continuous ringing of 
the 'phone. Muttering angrily, the old man spoke. 

*^ Hello,'' he answered, none too pleasantly. Then 
came the message : 

*^Mr. , this is Mrs. Eooke. There has been a 

cloudburst up the river. A flood is sweeping down the 
canyon. It will carry away your house in less than 
fifteen minutes. Eun for your lives. Do you under- 
stand?" 

^'We will be out," answered the old man. Before 
he could add his thanks the central had rung off. 

A little further down the canyon the anxious 
watchers by the bed of a sick, young girl were called to 
the 'phone. To them came the same message, and 
before the house was torn from its foundations, the 
invalid had been safely carried to a spot beyond the 
reach of the raging wall of water. 

—197— 



HERO TALES 



In the central office the little operator was working 
madly. With her list before her, she telephoned down 
the canyon ahead of the coming flood. It was slow work 
to arouse the subscribers just well settled into the first 
deep sleep of the night. She was planning to save just 
as many as she possibly could. The sick, the aged, and 
all who needed the most time were warned first; the 
others, who were better able to care for themselves, last. 
Always judging as closely as she could, she kept so far 
ahead of the flood that her warnings were not in vain. 

Minute followed minute, and the operator still 
worked on. Her warning flashed to those below her 
office now. Six miles below the central office a boy 
answered the frantic ringing of the bell. Above the 
ringing, whirring, he caught the words : 

**A flood is coming! Fly for " A sudden 

silence told that the wires had been carried down. 

After the flood subsided the next day they found 
her. Twelve miles below the central office, in a clump 
of bushes, her body lay. The headpiece, which tele- 
phone operators wear, was still fastened over her ear. 
They buried her with it still crowning her golden hair — 
a badge that signified, *^ Faithful, even unto death. '^ 



*'Hail! to the honor of woman, 
Sisters and mothers and wives, 
Hail! to the name of the nobler race 
That leads the nobler lives. 

"Where is there faith like a woman's— 
Purer than beaten gold— 
Or courage to enter the shadow of death. 
Are there men with hearts so bold ? 

*'Men, when you enter the battle. 
Free, where the sun shines clear, 
Pray God for a woman's courage 
To suffer and conquer fear." 

—198— 




THE TALE OF THE ORPHAN BOY WHO 
ROSE TO LEAD HIS COUNTRYMEN 



This is the tale of a homeless lad 
who struggled through poverty to fame, who did not 
forget the land of his birth when it was in danger and gave his 
life to its defense. It is a tale of a youth who resolved early in life 
that "you may be whatever you resolve to be" by trusting God and yourself. 

IT WAS the first day of May, in 1863. The armies 
of the South and North were face to face at Chan- 
cellorsville, in old Virginia ; the Confederates with 
sixty thousand men under the great General Lee, 
and the Union army, in command of General Hooker, 
with one hundred and twenty thousand. For days the 
two armies had been engaged in a terrific struggle ; and 
now the critical moment was at hand when one side or 
the other must give way. The Union general, m the 
presence of the famous Southern leader, hesitated, 
instead of taking advantage of his opportunity, and his 
opponent seized the chance to enact one of the most 
daring maneuvers of the war. 

In the Confederate camp the commanding ofecers 
were holding a council of war. The discussion had 
reached a climax, when General Lee dismissed his 
officers and retired. Late in the night while both 
armies were wrapped in sleep, a spark of light might 
have been seen under the trees. It was a little fire ot 
twigs, and bending over it were two officers seated on 
cracker-boxes in close intimacy and evident friendship. 

—199— 



HERO TALES 



They were General Lee and his great lieutenant, upon 
whom he was depending ; the man who, with his brigade, 
had by their immovable fortitude withstood the on- 
slaught of the Union army, and driven them from the 
field of Bull Eun in complete rout. For this act he was 
lovingly called by his men ^^StonewalP' Jackson. 

When these two brilliant officers had arisen from 
their humble seats the plan of battle for the next day 
had been decided upon, one of the most glorious days 
for the Confederates in the whole war. Soon, orders 
were passed along to *^fall in,*' and the regiments were 
on the road. At one side of the marching columns of 
gray-clad soldiers, a stern, commanding figure sat on 
his great charger, reviewing the troops of veterans as 
they swung past. With his cap pulled low over his eyes, 
and looking up from under the visor with compressed 
lips, indicating the stern resolve within, he directed his 
men. Soon they swung off into the woods at the side, 
and silently marched over and through the tangle of 
low brush. Jackson rode by his men to gain the lead, 
and was greeted by many a gay-hearted fellow with 
good-natured chaff, such as, *'Say, here's one of Old 
Jack's little fellows. Let him by, boys," delivered in 
the most patronizing tones; ^^ Better hurry up, or you 
will catch it for being behind;" ^^ Don't begin to fuss 
until we get there, ' ' and so on until he gained his posi- 
tion in the advance. 

For ten miles, through the dense woods, the packed 
column of infantry passed along. Now they were 
approaching the enemy and extreme caution was nec- 
essary. Eeaching the Orange Plank road, Jackson 
halted his section of the army and rode forward himself 
to reconnoiter the position of the Union troops. Soon 
he was back, and his men, now sober and expectant for 
the fray, awaited his commands. But they were not to 

—200— 



I 



THE ORPHAN BOY 



go into battle just yet. Ordering his command to follow, 
lie plunged into the woods toward Chancellorsville, the 
silent, ghostlike column of men at his heels. 

For a mile they continued their silent march. Then 
they halted. They had achieved a brilliant strategy. 
Without discovery, '' Stonewall' ' Jackson had suc- 
ceeded in flanking the Union army of the Potomac, of 
one hundred and twenty thousand men, and lay in a 
favorable position for attacking the superior force of 
Union soldiers. Before them, through the trees, could 
be seen the Eleventh Corps, under General Howard. 
The men, without the least idea of the danger so near 
them, were lounging about without muskets, some 
seated on the ground playing cards, and others busy 
about the preparation of supper. The Confederates in 
the woods were drawn up in line, awaiting the com- 
mand to advance. 

Upon his stout-built, famous ^^Old Sorrel," sat the 
commanding figure of Jackson, his cap still pulled low 
and his watch in his hand. To his right was General 
Eodes, impatient for the fray. The time had arrived. 

^^Are you ready, General Eodes!" called Jackson. 

**Yes, sir," replied Eodes. 

* * Forward, then ! ' ' ordered Jackson. 

A nod from Eodes was enough for the veteran 
soldiers, and the assault was on. With fierce cries 
resounding through the woods, the skirmishers sprang 
eagerly to their task, followed by the line of battle. For 
a moment all the troops seemed buried in the woods. 
Then from the underbrush there rushed a great mass 
of fear-inspiring men bent on the destruction of the 
army in the open field in front. Their cries could be 
heard at Hooker's headquarters at Chancellorsville, 
miles away. Never was an assault delivered with 
greater enthusiasm. The Confederate soldiers were 

—201— 



HERO TALES 



in fine condition, and the presence of '^Stonewall'' 
guaranteed that there could be no mistake and no 
failure. The din was terrific. Volley after volley -of 
musketry, the roaring of artillery, and the thundering 
rush of thousands of men echoed through the forest as 
Jackson and his forces routed the Union soldiers from 
their position. 

Success was theirs from the first. The Union sol- 
diers had put up a feeble defense, but were driven back 
by the overwhelming surprise of the attack. The battle 
roar kept up for the rest of the day as the attack 
became general along the line, until darkness kindly 
drew its mantle over the scene of carnage, and the two 
armies, by mutual consent, ceased firing and prepared 
to rest for the battle on the morrow. 

In the dusk, a group of officers could be seen moving 
about the battlefield, mounted on horses, studying the 
situation, and planning the next engagement. General 
Jackson was in the lead, riding along the plank road. 
In the woods beside the road were troops of his own 
men, on the watch for a night attack by the enemy. At 
the clattering of horses' hoofs on the planks the alert 
men seized their guns and were ready. Suddenly, 
around the bend came a man astride a sorrel horse, 
accompanied by other men, mounted. 

**Ah! a skirmishing party,'' thought the soldiers 
concealed in the woods. 

The horse was now opposite them. A volley rang 
out, awakening the echoes in the trees, and two of the 
party fell from their horses. The leading horse turned 
from the fire, and dashed for the protecting forest to 
the right, only to be met with another volley of shot, 
full face. 

The figure upon the steed swayed and trembled, 
slipping inch bv inch, until it was about to fall beneath 

—202— 



THE ORPHAN BOY 



the horse's feet. As his grasp on the bridle-rein loos- 
ened, the man reeled and fell into the arms of a nearby 
soldier. The horse continued on and plunged into the 
friendly woods. His rider had been the beloved gen- 
eral, ^ ^ Stonewall' ' Jackson — shot by his own men in the 
supposed performance of their duty. 

Tenderly the general was laid on the ground while 
a surgeon dressed his wounds. A litter was secured, 
and the idolized commander was lifted and carefully 
placed in it. Willing hands grasped the handles and 
bore it off. The Union army, awakened by the volleys 
of the Confederates, now began to fire great broadsides 
into the woods. Shells shrieked and hummed as they 
sang their song of destruction. The forward bearer of 
the litter with its precious burden, stumbled and sank 
to the ground. Then men, frightened by the hissing 
shells which were sweeping the road they were travel- 
ing, dropped the litter and scudded for cover. The 
general rose to his feet in great pain, and, assisted by 
his loyal captain, the Eev. James P. Smith, stumbled 
to the side of the road, where he was again placed upon 
the litter, while loyal hands were found to carry it. 

Again a bearer was shot down, and this time the 
litter careened and the brave general was thrown to the 
ground, with a groan of deep pain. The gallant Captain 
Smith rushed to him and lifted his head, as a stray 
beam of moonlight found its way through the trees and 
rested on the drawn, agonized face of the stricken man. 
** Never mind me, Captain; never mind me," he gasped, 
and to General Pender, as he rushed up, he said, **You 
must hold your ground. General Pender ; you must hold 
your ground, sir.'' 

This was the last command of General Jackson on 
the battlefield. He lingered for eight days in great 
agony, but no word of complaint passed his lips. 

—203— 



HERO TALES 



A dispatch was sent to General Lee announcing 
formally his disability; tidings that General Lee had 
received before the dispatch arrived. Jackson ^s chief 
wrote in reply that he could not express his grief at the 
occurrence, and could he have directed events, he would 
have chosen for the good of the Confederacy to have 
been disabled himself. He congratulated Jackson on 
the victory, declaring that it was due to his skill and 
energy. 

The message was read to the dying soldier. He 
turned his face away and said, ^^ General Lee is very 
kind, but he should give his praise to God.*' 

The North and South grieved alike at the death of 
this brave God-fearing man. 

Great the world believes him to have been in general- 
ship, but he was greatest and noblest in that he was 
good; and that, without a selfish thought, he gave his 
talents and his life to a cause that, as before the God he 
so devoutly served, he deemed right and just. 

They buried the beloved orphan boy, who had risen 
to the leadership of his people, under the flag for which 
he had given his life. They laid him away in the little 
village of Lexington, down in the hills of Virginia, and, 
as the last bugle sounded, the loving hands of women 
and children heaped flowers upon his grave. There, 
throughout the years, they go as to some holy shrine 
and lovingly place garlands over their sleeping hero, — 
General Thomas J. Jackson. 

The lad, who was left homeless at three years of age, 
and carried through life the magnificent faith that '^a 
man may be whatever he resolves to be by trusting in 
God and himself, ' * won a resting place in the hearts of 
his people — the noblest of all victories. 



—204— 




THE TALE OF THE BATTLESHIPS THAT 
VANQUISHED A PROUD MONARCHY 



This is the tale of battleships 
that unfurled the Stars and Stripes on the old Spanish 
Main and proclaimed to the world that a new power had risen 
over the seas. It is the tale of heroic men who forced an ancient 
monarchy to make its last stand in the conflict of western civilization. 

OFF the entrance to the harbor of Santiago, 
Cuba, the American fleet of warships lay, 
waiting for the Spanish fleet, which were 
within. There they had lain since the nine- 
teenth of May, in 1898, having dodged the American 
fleet in command of Admiral Sampson in the Caribbean 
Sea, and escaped into the protection of the forts and 
the harbor of Santiago. 

The heroic Lieutenant Hobson had run the collier, 
Merrimac, under scathing fire, up the channel of the 
harbor, and had sunk her across the entrance, and the 
Americans rested, secure in the belief that they had the 
Spanish ships '' bottled up'' and at their mercy. 

The siege continued through the months of May and 
June, with no change in the position of the two fleets. 
On Sunday morning, the third of July, 1898, the 
buglers of the American ships sounded the call to 
quarters, and the jacldes tumbled on deck in their best 
clothes for their regular Sunday inspection. 

The devout Captain Philip, of the Texas, had 
ordered the bugle sounded for religious services. 

—205— 



HERO TALES 



The watchful lookout on the loiva saw a line of 
smoke over the hills, and realizing what this meant, he 
reported to the deck and the signal was immediately 
run up, **The enemy is escaping to the westward/' 
From her bridge, a six-pounder boomed out over the 
water, to call the attention of the other ships to her 
fluttering signal flags. 

Beading the signal on the Iowa, the officers on the 
other ships of the American fleet also sounded the call 
to stations. 

On every vessel, white masses were to be seen 
scrambling about. Jackies and firemen tumbled over 
one another in their mad haste to reach their posts. 
Officers jumped into position in the turrets, without 
thought that they were wearing their best uniforms. 
Captains rushed to their posts in the conning towers. 
Time was precious — scarce enough to get the battle- 
hatches screwed on tight. 

One minute after the first signal, the Iowa was 
moving toward the harbor, followed by the other ships. 

From under frowning Morro Castle, the Spanish 
fleet was speeding at thirteen and a half knots an hour. 
The flagship, Infanta Maria Teresa, in the lead, closely 
followed by the armored cruiser, Almiranda Oquendo 
and Viscaya, her sister ship, so much like the Teresa 
that they could hardly be told apart. Third in line was 
the most modern of all, the splendid Cristobal Colon. 
Bringing up the rear of the long line of battleships, 
were the torpedo-boat destroyers, Pluton and Furor, 

From the Teresa came a flash of flame, followed by 
the sullen boom of a heavy gun, and the battle was on. 
All the battleships opened up their fire, and the forts 
on the heights joined in. Spurts of water, like geysers, 
sprang up around the slow-moving American ships, 
showing where the Spanish shells had exploded. The 

—206— 



i 



THE BATTLESHIPS 



American fleet returned the fire, hurling shot after shot 
at the escaping squadron. 

It seemed impossible for the American ships to 
overtake or intercept the fast-steaming Spanish fleet 
on their westward co\i rse for the open sea, that spelled 
safety for them. 

Admiral Sampson's command had been simple and 
plain. 

* ' Should the enemy come out, close in and head him 
oif,'' and the ships piled on coal, and endeavored to 
follow instructions. 

Admiral Sampson had that morning gone in the 
Neiv York up the coast to confer with General Shafter ; 
and the command devolved upon Admiral Schley, a 
capable and heroic officer. 

It soon became clear to the pursuing Americans that 
Admiral Cervera, the commander of the Spanish fleet, 
was taking his entire command in one direction. Then 
the battle became furious. The din was terrific ; cannon 
booming, shot rattling against the steel sides of the 
great ships, as they flew through the water at a tremen- 
dous rate of speed. The loiva and the Oregon headed 
for the shore to ram one or more of the ships, if possible. 
The Indiana and Texas followed closely. The Brooklyn 
steamed for the most distant western point, in the 
endeavor to head off the leader. It soon became 
apparent that the Americans could not ram the ships, 
nor overtake the speeding leader. They, therefore, 
turned and ran a parallel course, keeping up the fire. 
Broadside followed broadside, and the impact of the 
shells was deafening. 

Suddenly, the Spanish ships. Furor and Pluton, 
turned and dashed like maddened animals at the 
Brooklyn. Before they had time to do serious damage 
to that vessel, the signal, *^ Repel torpedo destroyers," 

—207— 



HERO TALES 



from Admiral Scliley, directed the concentrated fire of 
the American ships upon the little monsters. Clouds of 
black smoke poured from them as they floundered in the 
sea. Shot and shell fell with deadly and accurate aim. 

*^They are on fire! We've finished them!'' rang 
the cry from ship to ship. 

Far in the lead of her sister-ships, the Colon was 
steaming furiously, making desperate efforts to escape 
the gruelling fire of the pursuing BrooJclyn and Oregon. 
They were going like express trains, using every ounce 
of power that the brave firemen below in the bowels of 
the great leviathans could force from the engines. The 
chase lasted two hours. The pursuing ships drew 
within firing range, and opened their terrible batteries 
of flame upon the doomed ship in front. The concus- 
sion of the impact from the American shells stunned 
the Spanish gunners and drove them back from their 
cannon, only to be driven forward again to their duty 
by the Spanish officers. The Americans expected 
desperate resistance to their attack by this great, splen- 
did ship, with her smokeless powder and modern guns ; 
but, to their surprise, the Spanish captain struck his 
colors and headed his ship for the shore to sink her, 
sixty miles from Santiago. The greatest sea-fight of 
modern times was over. 

The word of victory passed over the ships like 
wildfire. Streams of men swarmed the deck from 
below, where they had labored to their utmost, black 
with smoke and coal and glistening with sweat, but wild 
with joy. Admiral Schley gazed down from the bridge 
upon the begrimed but joyous firemen, and with glisten- 
ing eyes and a voice husky with emotion, said: ** Those 
are the fellows who won the day." 

Thus perished from the seas the best part of the 
navy of that once mightiest of world-powers, Spain. 

—208— 




GENERAL LAWTON IN THE PHILIPPINES 




ARMY OF AGUINALDO IN THE PHILIPPINES 




THE TALE OF THE GALLANT HORSEMAN 
WHO SUBDUED THE CRUEL APACHE 



This is the tale of a horseman 
who followed the trail of a great Indian tribe on 
the war-path and forced them into submission to the will of 
the white man. It is the tale of the last stand of a once powerful 
people who were driven before the flaming torch of a mightier civilization. 

THIS spring day in the year 1886, a troop of 
cavalrymen were riding across the plains of 
Arizona, in the fierce glare of the fiery sun. 
Clouds of alkali dust rose from under the 
horses' hoofs, choking the riders and settling over their 
clothes, thus hiding the once spick and span uniforms 
of United States cavalrymen. Leading the troop of 
strong, wiry horsemen, and seated on a great, black 
charger, was the splendid figure, close-knit and strong, 
of their gallant captain. 

Standing, this man towered six feet and two inches, 
the very ideal of a military leader. His face was stern 
and unrelenting, but his eyes held a glint of kindness. 

For days, this band of horsemen had been in pursuit 
of the vicious Apache chief, Geronimo, who had for the 
tenth time led his tribe in their escape from the govern- 
ment reservation, on a raid against the white people in 
the surrounding country. Their atrocious acts had 
aroused the government, and the troops had been hur- 
riedly despatched after the Indians, to round them up 
and bring them back. 

—209— 



HERO TALES 



Further and further they rode into the awful waste, 
thirsty and starving. Through deserts bare of shelter 
for the tired horses and men, they kept up the grim 
chase. Now the trail led into the foot-hills. Horses 
were abandoned utterly exhausted, unable to endure 
•the terrible struggle that the courageous captain and 
his men passed through uncomplainingly. Deeper into 
the vast solitudes they toiled. Climbing over the 
volcanic crests that rose before them, their shoes cut 
and torn by the sharp lava that lay in their path, faith- 
fully they followed their determined leader. They 
wandered in canyons so deep that daylight seldom 
sufficed to show the fatigued men where to place their 
feet. Now and again they were lost in the awful wastes, 
only to pick up the trail of the fleeing Indians and 
eagerly push on with their chase. They lived on the 
animals of the country, no wilder than the savages that 
they were chasing. Now and then a puff of blue smoke 
rose lazily on the furnace-like air, above the trees, and 
a bullet hummed over their heads, telling of the near- 
ness of their quarry. The cavalrymen had long since 
been traveling on foot. The brave captain had said to 
his sergeant when the horses gave out, **We will walk 
them down,'' and with set teeth they tuere walking them 
down. 

Week after week the band of men toiled over moun- 
tains, through canyons, and across arid deserts, cheered 
by the brave example of their untiring commander. 

Six weeks after the courageous troop had gaily left 
their garrison, they were encamped at the foot of a 
mountain. Night had fallen, and, with pickets thrown 
out, they had lain down to regain some of their strength 
for the hard march of the morrow. Suddenly, a soldier 
on guard espied a staggering figure coming toward the 
camp. He drew nearer. In the light from the camp- 

—210— 



THE GALLANT HORSEMAN 



fire the soldier saw that the reeling figure was an 
Apache, and he knew that the Apaches were one of the 
most treacherous of the tribes roaming the wild west- 
ern plains. With gun in readiness, the soldier waited 
for the Indian to approach. He staggered up and fell 
exhausted at the feet of the cavalryman. He was a 
fearful sight — thin and haggard, his bones about to 
burst through his skin, his feet torn and bleeding. He 
called for the captain, ^ ' Man-who-gets-up-in-the-night, ' ^ 
as he called him ; and well he might so call him, for this 
man was the most deeply feared foe of all Indians, for 
he had studied their methods and fought them with 
their own game. 

**Geronimo give up,'' was the message. 

The captain's face glowed with pleasure in the 
knowledge of a deed well done. But the Apache chief 
demanded that the captain come, and alone, to his 
stronghold in the fastness of the mountains above. 
Despite the earnest urging of his officers to take a body- 
guard, he prepared to go into the den of the treacherous 
Apaches, worse than wild wolves. 

Up into the mountains, led by the Indian, the captain 
marched, always on the alert for treachery, for, though 
he was brave, he was not careless of his life. Now he 
was in the den of the starving Indians. Skeleton fingers 
pointed at him, cavernous eyes glared their messages 
of racial hatred. From fleshless jaws came words of 
pleading, intermingled with words of wrath. Up to the 
treacherous Indian chief he stalked, a magnificent 
figure, clad in a faded fatigue jacket, his trousers so 
soiled that the white stripe down the leg was hardly 
visible, his boots broken, and his head crowned with a 
disreputable sombrero that shaded his sunburned 
features, every inch a soldier and a man. He *^ pow- 
wowed" with Geronimo and commanded him to sur- 



HERO TALES 



render. As he stood among them, he seemed by virtue 
of superior courage and strength and hardihood, com- 
plete master of the situation. 

This man had met the Apaches on their own battle- 
ground, and in a test of their boasted powers of endur- 
ance, had run them down, on foot, and was in better 
physical condition at the end of the long, two months^ 
gruelling contest, than the Indians. Such was the fear 
that he inspired that the Indians gave up, and followed 
the brave soldier, Captain Henry W. Lawton, like 
sheep, to the reservation, to be given over to General 
Miles as prisoners. This broke up the roving bands of 
Arizona, so that the white man was able to live there in 
security, to till the land and bring forth its natural 
wealth. 

Years later, Lawton, then Brigadier-General, while 
leading his men in a fearless attack on the rebellious 
Filipinos at San Mateo, in the very front of his cheer- 
ing, fighting soldiers, was struck and fell, to die in less 
than a moment in the service of his country, while over 
his lifeless form waved victorious the flag of Liberty. 



"She's np there,— Old Glory,— where lightnings are sped; 
She dazzles the nations with ripples of red; 
And she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us dead,— 
The flag of our country forever! 

"She's up there,— Old Glory,— how bright the stars stream! 
And the stripes lilve red signals of liberty gleam! 
And we dare for her, living, or dream the last dream, 
'Neath the flag of our country forever! 

"She's up there,— Old Glory,— no tyrant-dealt scars, 
No blur on her brightness, no stain on her stars! 
The brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her bars. 
She's the flag of our country forever!" 



—212— 



THE TALE OF THE LIFE-SAVERS WHO 
RISK THEIR LIVES FOR DUTY 



This is the tale of the life-savers 
who patrol the coasts of the Nation and brave the perils 
of wind and wave to save those who are in danger. It is the 
tale of men who at this very hour are standing on duty listening for 
the call of distress that rides on the surf fronn the raging storms at sea. 

ALONG the coasts of the United States, at every 
hour of the day and night, are men in long, 
rubber coats and high-drawn boots, with hats 
that protect them from the weather, on silent 
patrol. Shielding their eyes with their hands, they 
peer far out at sea, these guardians of the safety of 
men on the ocean, and barken for the call of the ship in 
distress. 

It was a bitter cold night in mid-winter, along 
Monmouth Beach in New Jersey, where the great ocean- 
liners, bearing on their decks whole cities of humanity, 
heave in sight at the end of their long journeys from 
Europe. 

The flying snow and fog almost obscured the horizon, 
and the surf was like the booming of great guns as the 
waves rolled in, mountain-high. There have been many 
dreadful storms, but nothing so terrible in all the mem- 
ory of the Life-Saving Station, as the gale that devas- 
tated the coast on that icy February day in 1880. 

*^Boys,'' said Captain Valentine, peering out into 
the storm, *^ there is going to be trouble. In all my life, 

—213— 



HERO TALES 



I have never seen a gale like this. May heaven help the 
brave fellows at sea to-night ! ' ' 

The men at Station Four anxiously waited and 
hardly took their eyes from the ocean. Signals of 
distress were sure to come, for no vessel could live long 
in such a sea. The only bright spot to be seen in the 
dreary landscape was the cheery red of the life-saving 
station with the Stars and Stripes floating a welcome 
to all travelers in distress. As the hours wore away 
and the storm increased, the men held themselves in 
readiness to brave the gale at the first call from the sea. 
When darkness settled, it was impossible to see beyond 
the breakers tossing their white crests beneath the 
driving rain and snow. 

Captain Valentine stood on watch in the tower, 
although weak from a recent illness ; and his men 
patrolled the beach, straining their eyes to see the 
blurred horizon. Out beyond the pounding surf, and 
hidden from the Captain's anxious eyes, two vessels 
struggled in the storm and darkness. The great waves 
tossed them like chips on their bosom and drove them 
nearer and nearer to the treacherous Jersey shore. 

It was a little after midnight. The raging storm 
was at its worst. A faint sound rose above the roaring 
of the billows. It sounded like the sobs and cries of 
women and children. 

**May God help them!'' said Captain Valentine, as 
he stood in the tower, and quickly grasping his torch, 
he flashed the message that is dear to the heart of every 
man of the seas. 

The only reply from the impenetrable darkness was 
the plaintive call that he had heard before. 

Tense moments followed as the men prepared their 
apparatus for the coming struggle. Out of the storm 
of blinding snow from a sand bar a hundred yards 

—214— 



THE LIFE-SAVERS 



from the beach, issued faint cries for help from the 
imperilled crew of the schooner, E, C. Bahcock, wrecked 
in the raging sea. It was but the work of a moment for 
the life-savers to rush their cannon into position and 
shoot the life-line out over the seething water to the 
barely discernible boat in distress. A tug on the light 
line showed that their aim had been accurate in spite 
of the driving snow. The reel, on which the heavier line 
was wound, commenced to revolve, as the endangered 
sailor-men pulled the line toward them. The heavy 
hawser, on its stanchion, began to vibrate, and into 
view appeared a woman, supported in the breeches- 
buoy. Again and again the breeches-buoy traveled 
back and forth between the shore and the stricken ship, 
each time bringing to safety a man or woman. 

After half an hour's work the life-savers had 
rescued the passengers and crew from the schooner, 
and they were ensconced in the warm Life-Saving 
Station, resting after their arduous night. 

The crew were busy cleaning the apparatus, getting 
it ready for the next emergency, when into their midst 
dashed a beach patrolman, breathless, with the startling 
news that a brig was headed directly for the shore. 
Captain Valentine went to the door and looked out over 
the waste of swollen surf, beating uproariously on the 
beach. The snow had changed to a drizzling rain and 
in the light of the early dawn could be seen the Spanish 
brig Augustina, driving straight for the shore. Run- 
ning directly before the tremendous sea and wind, with 
split sails, the brig piled on the sand-bar with a shiver- 
ing shock. 

* * To the beach ! ' ' shouted the captain, and within a 
few minutes the life-saving crew were upon the spot 
opposite the wreck, with their apparatus ready for the 
struggle with the ice-cold water and wind. The cannon 

— 215— 



HERO TALES 



was in position, and with a boom sent the life-line ont 
on its errand of mercy. It fell short. Before the 
cannon was again ready to be fired, surf man White, 
with almost reckless daring, had rushed down into the 
waves as far as possible and putting forth all his 
strength, had sent a heaving-stick and line on board the 
pounding ship. The Spanish sailors seized it. They 
eagerly examined it, but seemed puzzled as to its use; 
they disregarded the tally-board, written in French 
and English, which was attached to the line, explaining 
the use of the apparatus. They thought that it was 
merely a piece of wreckage entangled in the tackle. A 
figure was seen to grasp the line and start hand-over- 
hand, through the raging surf, strewn with wreckage 
from the BahcocJc going to pieces on the beach but a 
quarter of a mile away. ' ' Stop ! Stop ! ^ ' shouted the 
surfman. 

Unheeding the warning, the man kept on until half- 
way to the beach, when a monster wave threw him in 
the air. He held on, but as he came down with terrific 
force the line parted and he was soon struggling help- 
lessly amid the wreckage in the swirling water. From 
the beach, a figure darted into the raging waves; out 
he went, struggling to keep his feet. Now he had the 
drowning man and had started for the shore. A rush 
of driftwood washed over the two struggling men and 
they disappeared from view. Up they came, and with 
desperate efforts the surfman. Garret H. White, 
regained his feet, with the sailor tight in his grasp. 
Fighting again the treacherous undertow, the two men 
finally reached the beach, amid the cheers of two hun- 
dred people, who had gathered there to watch the 
gallant efforts of the brave life-savers. Despite the 
sad outcome of the first man's attempt to climb to 
shore, two sailors were seen to be coming hand over 

—216— 



THE LIFE-SAVERS 



hand. They, too, were whipped into the sea, and surf- 
man Van Brunt dashed to their rescue, but was knocked 
down by the thrashing wreckage. Into the surf fisher- 
men flung themselves, hands locked together in file. 
The end man seized the floundering surfman, and 
brought him to shore. 

White, with untiring strength, battled to the side of 
one of the sinking Spanish sailors and brought him to 
shore, while two of his comrades rescued the other. 
Thus, fighting hand-to-hand with the tumbling water 
and wreckage, the heroic crew brought the entire crew 
of the Spanish brig safely to shore. From the terrified 
sailors it was learned that the captain of the wrecked 
vessel was still on board, disabled and unable to help 
himself. Out over the water to the doomed brig that 
had been driven nearer the beach by the tremendous 
seas the life-line curved, this time to fasten securely in 
the rigging. Into the breeches-buoy climbed the 
intrepid White, and was sent out to the ship. He 
carried the captain from his cabin and placed him in 
the breeches-buoy. Away over the angry sea he was 
pulled to safety, rescued from almost certain death. 
Then the breeches-buoy was sent out to the heroic surf- 
man, and he, too, came to the beach, amid great 
applause, tired but happy in the knowledge of a good 
deed well done. As a mark of appreciation, the United 
States Government gave the gallant crew and Captain 
Valentine the gold medal, the highest mark of commen- 
dation in the service. 

Somewhere along the coast of these United States 
at this very hour the mighty Atlantic or the Pacific is in 
stubborn combat with man; somewhere the siren call 
of a lost ship is sounding over the waves and heroic 
men are answerinsr the summons. 



—217— 



THE TALE OF THE DIPLOMAT WHO 
DID NOT FORGET THE DEBT 



This is the tale of an Ambassador 
who risi<ed his life and his reputation to repay the debt 
of his Nation to those who had lent it a helping hand in the 
time of need and now needed one in return. It is a tale of a man 
who did not forget when the moment of opportunity knocked at his door. 

ON THE tenth of August, in 1792, several French 
men and women surged up the steps leading 
to the American legation in Paris, fugitives 
from the wild mob that was sacking the city, 
and had put to flight the trained soldiers of Louis XVI. 
It was during the French Revolution, that fearful 
struggle for liberty which held a great, old-world 
nation in its grasp as it had held the new world but a 
few years before. 

They beat on the doors of the legation, seeking 
protection from the incensed rabble that was rapidly 
closing on their heels. Would the door never open! 
Their pursuers were almost upon them. Shrill cries 
filled the air. Missiles flew at the little band of men 
and women standing, so helplessly, before the infuri- 
ated mob of French citizens, their own countrymen, 
whose only crime was that they belonged to the aris- 
tocracy. The mob was hunting their lives, as blood- 
hounds hunt the fugitive. 

These were trying days for all. Foreigners and 
natives were treated alike, if caught in the streets 

—218— 



THE DIPLOMAT 



unguarded. The door of the embassy was cautiously 
opened. A short parley ensued. The door opened 
wider, and the little hunted band hurried inside, under 
the protection of the United States flag — saved from 
their own countrymen. With hysterical cries, the 
delicately-nurtured women of the French nobility threw 
themselves at the feet of the American minister, 
Gouverneur Morris, thanking him again and again for 
his heroism in giving them refuge. It was a splendid 
act of heroism ; for thus he not only endangered his own 
life, but he took a heavy responsibility beyond his 
authority in protecting these defenseless people from 
the assaults of the agents of the newly established 
republic. 

Many of this little group had served the American 
republic, under arms, in its struggle with England for 
independence, bearing themselves with bravery and 
performing deeds of heroism. This the minister 
remembered, and when they came to him seeking pro- 
tection, he thought only of the debt that his government 
owed these people, and determined to repay it. 

Minister Morris said to one of his friends : ^ ' I have 
no doubt that there are persons on watch who would 
find fault with my conduct as minister in receiving 
these people; but they were not invited to my house; 
they came of their own accord. A%ether my house will 
be a protection to them, or to me, God only knows, but 
I will not turn them out of it, let what will happen. It 
would be inhuman to force them into the hands of the 
assassins.'' 

This simple statement shows the heroism of this 
brave man, who was willing to risk his own life and his 
prestige as a minister for the sake of a people who had 
at one time befriended the Americans. 

Minister Morris remained at his post during all 
—219— 



HERO TALES 



the fearful days of the revolution, when the streets 
literally ran with blood, and the crazed mobs sacked the 
palaces. The city was a scene of terror, completely at 
the mercy of bloodthirsty murderers. He was advised 
by friends to desert his duty, and received threats of 
violence from the rabble unless he should depart; but, 
undaunted, he clung to his post until quiet had been 
restored in the city. To one of his friends he wrote 
during this trying period : *^It is true that the position 
is not without danger, but I presume that when the 
President did me the honor of appointing me to this 
embassy it was not for my personal pleasure or safety, 
but to promote the interests of my country. These, 
therefore, I shall continue to pursue to the best of my 
judgment, and as to the consequences, they are in the 
hands of God.'^ 

His courageous humanity is something that should 
always be remembered. It is inspiring to think of that 
fearless figure, standing alone in the midst of the awful 
danger and the blood-curdling scenes of the French 
Eevolution, protecting not only his own countrymen in 
Paris, but also the endangered French citizen. 



"Ah, we can ne'er forget 
The princely Lafayette, 

Who came to aid ns in our time of need; 
Nor gallant Rochambeau 
And Count de Grasse, whose blow 
Routed our mighty foe 
That all the world might know 

America from bonds forever freed! 

"Your valor we recall, 

Your sacrifice, and all 
The struggle fierce you made for us and ours, 

The ceaseless flight of time 

But speaks your act sublime; 

The hurrying centuries chime 

In grand, heroic rhyme. 
This noble consecration of your powers." 

—220— 



THE TALE OF THE MARTYRED SEAMEN 
WHO BROKE THE BONDS OF TYRANNY 



This Is the tale of American seamen 
whose lives were the purchase price of freedom for a 
people in bondage; whose martyrdom gave birth to a new Nation 
and unloosed the shacl<les of more than four centuries. It is the 
tale of America's sacrifice for suffering humanity and its terrible cost. 

IT WAS a fine, clear day in the Southern waters. 
Through the portals of the harbor of Havana 
swept the second-class battleship Maine of the 
United States navy, the waves gracefully curving 
from her sharp cut-water. The white sides of the 
splendid ship were lined with the crew, some of whom 
were looking for the first time on the beautiful Havana 
beyond; others recognizing familiar points that had 
an especial interest to them, recalling some pleasant 
episode that had occurred on some former visit. The 
rays of the sun were reflected from the shining brass, 
spotlessly clean, and the snow-white sides of the great 
warship. Saluting guns from the forts on shore gave 
her welcome, as she moved up to the buoy and came to 
anchor. 

Clouds of smoke drifted from the side of the Maine 
as she returned the welcome. Men hurried about, 
executing the various orders issued by the officers, and 
preparing the ship for visitors. 

It was a beautiful sight — the monster ship in the 
foreground of the open sea, frowning fortresses on the 

221 



HERO TALES 



side of the harbor, and the Cuban metropolis in front, 
with its white buildings and long piers, crowded with a 
multitude of people. 

Boats scudded about the bay, and from the wharves 
launches were dashing, conveying the port officials out 
to the big battleship, to give the representatives of the 
United States Government assurance of the good feel- 
ing existing in the island. 

A continual stream of boats crossed the waters of 
the harbor all through the day, many of them carrying 
Americans who had left their native land in pursuit of 
their business interests. The hearts of these Americans 
thrilled as they neared the side of the ship, a ship of 
their navy, lined with the faces of the sturdy sailors, 
their fellow-countrymen. The night drew on, and on 
shore the lights were beginning to appear ; here a soli- 
tary flash and there another, like fire-flies in the dark, 
soon to break out all over, driving the gloom from this 
gay city. Boats loaded with American jackies were 
drawing away from the Maine, headed for the piers, the 
men anticipating a frolic on land, after the long sea- 
trip and its attendant arduous routine of duty. Prior 
to the coming of the Maine, violent outbreaks and riots 
had occurred in Havana, and the battleship had been 
despatched to protect United States citizens and prop- 
erty, and, if possible, to quell the mobs. For three 
weeks the Maine lay quietly in the harbor of Havana, 
watching, but not interfering, with the situation, and 
her presence did not provoke any demonstration of hos- * 

tility. Still, the Spanish feeling of hatred for the 
American ship was intense, and frequently there were 
derisive calls, from the passing boats, of Cochinos 
Yankees and their podrida escuadra (Yankee pigs and 
their rotten squadron). Despite these taunts^ the Am- 
ericans quietly attended to their duties. 

—222— I 






THE MARTYRED SEAMEN 



On the night of the fifteenth of February, 1898, most 
of the ship^s officers had gone on shore to attend a 
reception to pass away a few care-free hours, in relief 
from responsibility. The city was gay with light. The 
harbor was quiet and calm. The cool, evening breezes 
were fanning the cheeks of the watchful men, pacing 
the decks of the Maine, ever on the lookout for enemies, 
even in the time of peace. The gallant commander of 
this floating fortress, sitting in his cabin, had just com- 
pleted an inspection of his ship and was resting. The 
crew were below decks peacefully sleeping. 

The silence of the tropical night was suddenly 
dispelled by a tremendous report, closely followed by a 
second louder explosion. From deep down in the 
depths of the ship came the roar of the explosions. 
The majestic Maine was instantly transformed into a 
partial wreck. The flying debris scattered over the 
other vessels in the harbor, and the water around was 
strewn with the wreckage. Windows on the shore were 
shattered, and lights along the water front extinguished 
by the tremendous vibration of the shock. 

Captain Charles D. Sigsbee, commander of the 
Maine, thinking only of his ship and his men, started 
for the deck and crashed into an orderly in the darkness, 
for all the lights on the ship had gone out. The brave, 
young orderly, in whom the discipline of years could 
not be shaken even by an explosion, calmly saluted, and 
waited for permission to speak to his commanding 
officer. 

**I regret to report that the ship has been blown up, 
sir.'* 

The captain ran on deck. The survivors were at 
their stations. They had been more fortunate than 
their poor comrades, sleeping directly over the seat of 
the explosion, who were instantly killed. 

—223— 



HERO TALES 



Tlie order to flood the magazines was passed along. 

But the magazines, partly exploded, were already 
filled by the water pouring through the shattered frame 
of the vessel. 

The Blaine was blazing fiercely, her upper works 
were completely destroyed and hanging to the deck, 
greatly endangering the men hurrying about executing 
the orders of their officers. 

Three of the ship 's boats were hanging at her sides, 
all that were left of her great number. Calmly the 
sailors awaited the order to abandon ship, and when it 
came, in perfect order, the boats were lowered and the 
wounded tenderly placed in them. Then the remaining 
boats were loaded with men and sent ashore. Boats 
from the Spanish warship, Alfonso X7/./and the City 
of Washington were scouring the surrounding waters, 
picking up the struggling men, blown from the ship by 
the explosion. The Maine was now a mass of flames 
and rapidly settling. Explosion after explosion burst 
out, as the ammunition caught fire, hurling steel 
splinters high in the air to fall about the rescue-boats 
like hail. The wreck continued to burn for four hours, 
lighting up the harbor and shore as if it were day. The 
Maine was a total wreck, sinking in about thirty feet of 
water, her upper works standing above the surface like 
a monument to martyrdom. 

Of the six hundred and fourteen men and thirty- 
five officers, two hundred and sixty-six were lost. 

The catastrophe appalled the nations of the world, 
and many a home was shrouded in mourning. The 
heart of the nation was aroused. Haughty Spain re- 
sented the suspicion of her responsibility. A great war 
broke out, in which a struggling people were released 
from bondage, and a new republic arose from the ashes 
of the Maine, 

—224— 



THE TALE OF THE LIGHTHOUSE WOMAN 
ON THE CLIFFS OF LIME ROCK 



This is the tale of the daughter 
of a lighthouse keeper, who, when her father 
became ill, stood guard over the ships at sea, and remained 
at her post of duty for more than fifty years, the only woman light- 
house keeper in the service of her country ; the tale of heroic occupation. 

FAE out on the end of Newport's rocky cliffs, 
where great waves break incessantly against 
the rocks, and the angry, white-capped 
breakers ponnd unceasingly against the wall 
of stone, stands the Lime Eock Lighthouse. 

Year after year, night after night, since long before 
the war, the light has thrown its beacon far out on the 
sea, a guide to thousands upon thousands of mariners. 
For over fifty years, without a vacation, and with 
scarcely a holiday, the light has been trimmed and 
lighted by the hand of a woman. Day after day that 
same woman has faithfully watched across the seas, 
where sail-boats, managed by unskilled hands, have 
tossed about, buffeted by wind and wave. Time after 
time she has slipped her life-boat from the rocky cliffs 
in all kinds of weather to ride to the rescue of sailors 
whose frail crafts have been overturned. Eighteen 
rescues of this sort stand to her credit, all of them made 
at personal risk, and requiring coolness and courage. 

Ida Lewis, *Hhe Grace Darling of America," the 
woman credited with this record, is the only woman 

—225— 



HERO TALES 



lighthouse keeper in the United States service, and it 
was only by a special act of Congress that she was made 
eligible for the appointment. Her service started when 
she was a mere slip of a girl. Her father was the keeper 
of the light and he was taken ill. The daughter assumed 
his duties, and, ever since, she has tended the light and 
watched the sea, her little boat always ready to launch 
at the first sign of danger. 

It would naturally be supposed that the girl and 
woman to accomplish these heavy tasks would be a 
rugged, healthy daughter of the sea. This heroine, 
however, was never strong nor rugged. A frail, slender 
girl, with lungs that were very weak, she was scarcely 
one who would be chosen as a heroine to battle with the 
seas, in an effort to save human life. But in her slender 
frame there was the courage that knew no fear, and a 
will and determination that more than made up for all 
physical weakness. 

She was more than a Grace Darling, for the rescue 
work of the great English heroine was performed on 
one sudden impulse. With Ida Lewis it was continuous 
duty that called her to imperil her life for others. It 
was ^^all in the day^s work,'* and when she heard the 
summons she never faltered. Medals by the dozen have 
been presented to her for her heroic work. The Car- 
negie hero-list contains her name, but to her it has been 
simply '^Diity/' 

Ida Lewis started her life-saving career at the age 
of seventeen, when she rowed out through the wind and 
sea and saved the lives of four young men who were 
clinging to the bottom of their overturned sailboat. 
After this, rescues came at varied intervals, but it was 
ten years later that her most daring trip through the 
raging sea was made. 

A stormy March dav was drawing to a close. Since 



THE LIGHTHOUSE WOMAN 



sunrise the waves had been lashed into a foam by the 
driving wind, and the rain had fallen in torrents. 
Toward evening there was a slight lull, and for a time 
the wind died down, coming in fitful, treacherous blasts 
that made it almost suicidal to venture on the water in 
a small sailboat. In some manner a boy of fourteen had 
secured such a boat, and, during the temporary lull, he 
persuaded two soldiers to let him take them from New- 
port to Fort Adams, across the harbor. Accepting the 
boy's word that he could manage the boat, the soldiers 
boarded it and a start was made. 

Half the distance between the shore and the fort had 
been covered, when suddenly the storm again came up 
with renewed fury. The rain fell in blinding sheets and 
the wind sprung to a gale. The little boat was tossed 
on the waves like an eggshell. Thoroughly frightened, 
the lad became confused, pulled his helm in the wrong 
direction, and the boat turned completely over, coming 
up only to be instantly capsized again. The soldiers 
and the boy managed to secure a hold on the keel, 
where, for a long half -hour they clung, tossed by the 
storm that was now a driving gale, and nearly frozen 
by the icy water. Then the boy began to weaken. The 
soldiers did what they could for him, but finally, with 
a despairing cry, he loosed his hold, threw up his hands 
and sank. 

In grim desperation, the soldiers clung to the boat 
for a short time longer, then one of them reached his 
hand to the other. 

^^ Good-bye, old man,'' he said. 

^'Not yet!" responded the other. ^^ Stick, to the 
finish. ' ' 

But hope was fast disappearing in the gathering 
darkness, when from the foot of the lighthouse cliif a 
small rowboat was seen to start out. For a time the 

—227— 



HERO TALES 



hopes of the soldiers ran high as the little boat pro- 
gressed ; but when they could see the occupants, a frail 
boy (a iDrother of Ida Lewis) and a still frailer girl, 
their hopes again sank. A half-mile stretch of rolling, 
seething waves lay between the lighthouse and the 
capsized boat. The wind blew a gale directly across the 
path between the soldiers and their rescuers. 

But the soldiers knew little of the courage in the two 
frail forms in the tiny boat. On and on they battled, 
now pulling one way, now another, to avoid the treach- 
erous cross-currents, but always they came nearer, 
nearer. There was never a pause for rest, never a 
weakening in the sturdy stroke of the oars. Finally, 
the rowboat was alongside the wrecked craft. As a 
wave swept the boats together, the boy reached over 
the side to grasp one of the soldiers, when the quick- 
witted sister cried, * ^ Stop, Hosey ! Not that way ! We 
shall be capsized!" 

With a few strokes of the oars she turned the boat's 
stern toward the capsized craft, and, while she held it 
in this position the brother pulled the two fainting 
soldiers in over the stern. Another battle with the 
waves on the return trip, and the nearly exhausted men 
were landed. Far from ceasing her exertions here, the 
young woman directed the care of the rescued soldiers, 
and so well did she succeed, that they were both able to 
return to the fort the following day. There was an 
effort made to place the brave little woman on a hero 's 
pinnacle, but she was as modest as she was brave. 

*^A hero?'' she said, in mild surprise; *^No, I'm not 
a hero ;" and, when it was urged that had she not gone 
to the rescue, the soldiers would have drowned, she 
simply said, ^^I couldn't let them drown without trying 
to save them, could I?" 

In that one sentence is pictured the character of Ida 
—228— 



THE LIGHTHOUSE WOMAN 



Lewis, life-saver and lighthouse keeper of Lime Eock 
light. In more than a half century of service it never 
occurred to her that there was any course to take but 
one. If help was needed, it was her duty to furnish it, 
and she could not understand, why simply doing her 
duty should be classed as heroism. But there were 
those who understood. From all over the country have 
come medals to her from those who respond to true 
heroism. She was placed on Andrew Carnegie ^s pen- 
sion list for life; she was heralded the country over as 
'* America's Grace Darling,'* but even then she could 
not comprehend. 

< ' Why is it r ' she asks in the same puzzled way. 

She will never know. She was born too much of a 
hero to know that such a thing as cowardice exists. To 
her, the hero's way was the right way — the only way. 



*A blessed task— and worthy one 

Who, turning from the world, as thou. 
Before life's pathway had begun 
To leave its spring-time flower and sun. 

Had sealed her early vow; 
Giving to God her beauty and her youth. 
Her pure affections and her guileless truth. 

*Yea, and when thrones shall crumble down, 

And human pride and grandeur fall,— 
The herald's line of long renown,— 
The mitre and the kingly crown,— 

Perishing glories all! 
The pure devotion of thy generous heart 
Shall live in Heaven, of which it was a part." 



—229— 




THE TALE OF THE COLLEGE STUDENT 
ON THE GREAT LAKES 



This is tPie taie of a coiiege student 
who, when he heard of distress in a stornn on the Lal<es, 
left his studies and hurried to the shore, where he swam to 
the rescue of seventeen lives and regretted that he could not save 
more; a tale of unconscious heroism that crippled its hero for life. 

IN THE little town of Evanston, Illinois, twelve 
miles north of Chicago, is the . Northwestern 
University. Years ago, in the early sixties, before 
the small college had attained to the dignity of a 
university, two farmer-boys, brothers, had left their 
home to enter the institution to study for the ministry. 
Of the two brothers, Ed and Will Spencer, Ed was the 
stronger, a noted swimmer, and a leader in sports and 
athletics. 

While engaged in their studies on the morning of 
the eighth of September, 1860, there came word that 
there was a wreck on the shore of Lake Michigan, at 
a little place called Winnetka, near Evanston. Casting 
aside their books, the college boys rushed to the scene. 
When they reached the shore they saw a terrible sight. 
Lake Michigan, in all its fury, was doing its utmost to 
claim as its own the Lady Elgin and its hundred pas- 
sengers. The angry waves were dashing over the 
stranded vessel, and the flying spray drenched the 
clinging people to the skin. Planks and spars were 
ripped from the doomed ship and were thrashing about, 

—230— 



THE COLLEGE STUDENT 



increasing the grave danger of the helpless passengers. 

Ed Spencer did not hesitate. Drawing off his 
clothes, he tied a rope around his waist, threw the end 
to his comrades, dashed into the roaring breakers, and 
struck out for the wrecked vessel. Breasting the on- 
coming waves, he sturdily swam out to the ship. 

Each stroke brought him nearer the ship, but into 
greater danger. The floating wreckage increased in 
quantity as he drew nearer his goal, but he finally 
reached the side of the vessel without harm. Taking 
one of the passengers in his arms, he gave the signal 
to his comrades on the shore, and he was pulled back 
with his burden through the heaving water. 

Again he started for the fast-settling ship, to be 
buffeted by the waves and planks. Seizing a woman he 
plunged into the water, to be pulled to the shore a 
second time. Again and again he repeated this heroic 
act, until he had succored ten of the distressed passen- 
gers. After his tenth trip he seemed completely ex- 
hausted and tottered up to a fire that the boys on shore 
had built. The warmth revived him and gave him 
strength to plunge into the sea again on his errand of 
mercy. Tirelessly he worked; his strength seemed 
inexhaustible. Five more times he swam out to the 
distant wreck and was drawn back to the beach. 

Then his strength seemed utterly gone. He again 
staggered to the life-giving fire, and stood there, pale, 
cold and trembling from his awful fight with the angry 
elements. He could scarcely stand. After a short rest, 
looking out over the water he saw struggling forms in 
the water. He rose to his feet. 

'^Boys, I am going in again." 

**No, no, Ed,'' his friends cried, *^your strength is 
all gone. You cannot swim out again. You will only 
lose your own life." 

—231— 



HERO TALES 



The tall, lithe, clean-cut, young hero gazed out over 
the tossing waves. He saw a spar rising and falling 
upon the water. Then he saw a man^s head above it. 

** There is a man trying to save himself,'' he cried. 
Suddenly, he saw a woman's head beside the man's 
on the spar, and then all hesitation vanished. 

**It is a man trying to save his wife," shouted the 
young hero. * * I '11 help him. ' ' 

**You cannot; you are too weak," reiterated his 
comrades. 

**I'I1 try, anyway," he declared, and away he sped 
again, though nearly spent and benumbed by his heroic 
efforts. Summoning his fast ebbing strength he 
struggled on to the spar. He was just in time. The 
grasp of the two unfortunates who were clinging to it 
was slipping. Supporting the woman, he guided the 
spar around the point through the mass of wreckage. 

Completely worn out by his tremendous struggles, 
he lay at last gasping at the edge of the beach. The 
waves were rushing upon him as if eager to devour the 
man who had cheated them of their prey. 

His brother Will rushed forward, arid dragging him 
out of the clutches of the sea, brought him to the fire. 

The Lady Elgin was now a complete wreck and the 
work of rescue was over. Tender hands carried the 
unconscious boy-hero to his room in the college. 

Eegaining consciousness, he saw his brother stand- 
ing by his bedside, where he had watched through the 
night. 

''Will," he said, ''Do you think I did my best?" 

"You saved seventeen," his brother replied. 

' ' I know it. I know it, ' ' he cried, ' ' but I was afraid 
I did not do my best. Do you think I did my very best ? ' ' 

Half delirious he kept repeating: "I know it. T 
know it. But if I could onl v have saved one more ! ' ' 

—232— 



THE TALE OF THE LITTLE GENERAL 
WHO WON THE LOVE OF HIS ARMY 



This is the tale of a little general 
to whom humanity was greater than victory, to whom the 
love of his soldiers was greater than military honor or power. 
It is a tale of the affection that led an army to triumph and then 
cast down the man who obeyed his heart rather than his government. 

IT WAS in the days when the nation was overcast 
with gloom. The spectre of surrender hovered 
over the national capital at Washington. The 
great army of invasion was hammering at the 
very gates of the American capital, and threatening 
to sweep on to the North in triumph. Even the great 
cities of Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, were 
fearing that they were to fall into the hands of the 
Southern army of invasion. 

It was in the year of 1862. The tide of war was 
threatening to sever in twain the great republic and to 
drag the flag of liberty in the dust. 

^^We must halt the enemy or we are lost." These 
were the words on the lips of the government officials. 
On this September day, the Army of the Potomac 
moved along the banks of the river that led to the 
nation's capital. At the head of the lines rode a little 
general sitting erect on his horse, and wearing a broad 
felt hat, well drawn over his eyes. Upon his head 
rested the blame of the government; but he had won 
the love of every soldier that had ever fought under his 

—233— 



HERO TALES 



flag. Months before, he hac^ound them ragged and 
hungry, — forty thousand men worn out and hopeless. 
His call for help had been heard by his people and two 
thousand recruits were marching under his leadership, 
willing and eager to fight for the flag. 

As the Autumn sun blazed down on the hills on this 
seventeenth day of September, bathing the fields and 
the river in its warm rays, the two great armies stood 
face to face at Antietam, arrayed in final combat for 
the possession of the nation's capital and the gates to 
the North. All day long, in the glare of the sun, the 
men of the blue and the men of the gray struggled for 
the victory — the two greatest fighting bodies that ever 
engaged in mortal conflict ; now fighting for the bridge, 
now for the road that led to the capital, now on the 
broad expanse of the meadows. 

The clouds of smoke in the valley told of the awful 
story. Now the battle seemed to be going to the South, 
now to the North. The Union men who had tramped 
through the Chickahominy swamps and down the Vir- 
ginia valley, without shoes or socks, were ragged and 
bleeding. Suddenly, a mighty roar burst from the 
field. Then, above the tumult, the Union men caught 
its inspiration. 

* * Give ground to the right ! ' ' 

The order thundered along the lines. A clanking, 
frothing squadron of cavalry dashed madly to the 
front. There was not a man in that great army that 
did not understand its meaning. There, before their 
eyes rushed a black charger, on a dead run; over his 
flying mane leaned the little general, waving his sword 
and urging his men on to victory. A mighty cheer 
passed through the lines. One more desperate charge 
— and the battle was won. The hardest-fought and the 
bloodiest single day's strife that ever befell in the 

—234— 



THE LITTLE GENERAL 



Western Hemisphere, the lives of nearly forty thou- 
sand men in blue and gray being the price of the 
victory. 

The little general had saved the nation's capital. 
His duty to his country was done. Humanity now 
clamored at his heart. 

''Drive the Confederates back into the South/' 
came the order from panic-stricken Washington. 

' ' My men are sick and hungry, ' ' answered the little 
general. ''They are footsore and exhausted.'' 

"Annihilate the fleeing foe," demanded the North. 

"Not another step until the suffering of my men is 
relieved, ' ' was the decisive reply. 

For many days the little general "lay on his arms." 
The demands from the government were met by 
counter-demands from the little general. The impa- 
tience of Washington was aroused. 

Late in the night of the seventh of November, the 
little general was sitting in his tent writing a letter to 
his wife in the distant North. Around him lay the 
sleeping army. There was a knock on the tent pole. 

"Come in," called the little general. 

Two United States army officers entered the tent. 
The faces of both were solemn. 

"Well, general," said one of them, "I think we had 
better tell at once the object of our visit." 

Two letters were handed to the little general. Both 
officers intently watching his face as he opened the 
letters and read them. Then, with a smile, he turned 
to one of the officers and said pleasantly: "I turn the 
command over to you." 

The little general had been retired by his impatient 
government, and before him stood the man who was to 
take the army from his hands, under orders to drive 
the Southerners down the Shenandoah valley. 

—235-. 



HERO TALES 



It was not many hours later. The little general, 
seated on his magnificent black charger, at the head of 
his staff, rode for the last time before his army, lifting 
his cap as the regimental colors fell in salute. Line 
after line of men dropped their muskets to cheer their 
beloved commander. Tears rose to the eyes of the 
little general and every man in the whole army shook 
with emotion. Two thousand of his loyal soldiers were 
drawn up in military order as the little general entered 
the car. A volley of musketry crashed out in salute. 
Instantly the line of soldiers broke. Surrounding the 
car in which the little general was seated, they un- 
coupled it from the train. Yells and cries filled the 
air, and the men insisting wildly that he should not 
leave them. The bitterest imprecations were shouted 
against those who had deprived them of their beloved 
commander. The excitement was intense. One word, 
one look of encouragement, the raising of a finger, 
would have been the signal for a revolt. 

On the platform of the car he stood to deliver his 
farewell message. He raised his hand. Silence rested 
on the impassioned throng. He spoke slowly and ap- 
pealingly : * ^ Stand by Burnside as you have stood by 
me, and all will be well ! ' * 

Subdued, the loyal soldiers, with manly tears 
streaming down their faces, rolled the car back, and 
recoupled it to the train, and the little general had 
passed from them forever. 

In all that these brave men did, in all that they 
suffered, though great were their deeds, and unspeak- 
able their sufferings, never, perhaps, was their de- 
votion and loyalty more nobly proven than by their 
instant obedience to this request from the commander 
whom they had learned to love — General George B. 
McClellan! 

—236— 




THE TALE OF THE COMMANDER WHO 
SAVED THE GREAT LAKES 



This is the tale of the commander 
who built his own ships and then sailed them to victory; 
the tale of a man's triumph over mighty difficulties that the flag 
of his country might wave over the great waters of inland com- 
merce, on the shores of which have since risen great cities of civilizat on. 

IT WAS the tenth day of September, in the year of 
1813. The war was on between England and the 
young republic of the United States. The little 
fleet of American warships, but nine in all, were 
lying in the harbor of Presque Isle, on Lake Erie. Out- 
side, in the lake, were the six English fighting ships, 
but greater in strength and number of men than were 
the American ships, and with guns heavier and of 
longer range. 

The commander of the little American fleet had 
come from Newport, in Ehode Island, and had built 
his own navy in six months ' time, to help in the defence 
of his country. The English, in control of Lake Erie, 
threatened to occupy the great Northwest country, and 
this brave officer had been sent without ships to drive 
them out. 

At noon on this September day, the sailors on the 
American ships were hurriedly making ready for 
battle. The British, seeing the preparations of the 
enemy, hastily cleared ship for action. 

Out of the harbor, the American fleet sailed. The 
—237— 



HERO TALES 



flagsMp Lawrence, with the brave captain, was in the 
lead, closely followed by two small gunboats. 

The English ships slowly drew nearer the three 
boats, and soon were within range with their big guns. 
There was a flash of flame, and a shot from the leading 
English ship hurtled over the water but fell short. 
Another shot followed as the ships approached. This 
time the shell came nearer. 

The Americans did not reply. Their guns would 
not carry as far as the British cannon. Their only hope 
was to get near to the foe and fight at close range. Un- 
daunted by the fearful hail of shot, they gallantly sailed 
on. Splinters from the wooden sides of the ships were 
flying in every direction as the shot of the English 
found their mark. 

Suddenly, from the side of the Lawrence, a sheet of 
flame burst forth. With a shudder, the leading English 
ship careened, telling of the accuracy of the American 
aim. Broadside after broadside was exchanged as the 
ships closed in. The din was terrific; — the heavy ex- 
plosions of the death-dealing guns, the shrieks of the 
woimded men, and the hoarse cries of the officers, direct- 
ing the ships and fire. 

In the midst of the carnage the Lawrence, the center 
of the English fire, was returning shot for shot. For 
two long hours the brave commander on the flagship 
stood his ground, fighting desperately, with the as- 
sistance of the two little gunboats, against the entire 
English fleet. The rest of the American fleet stood off 
and vainly tried to hurl their shot into the fray, but the 
range was too great and they were not of much as- 
sistance. The Lawrence was suffering terribly from 
the gruelling fire of the English ships. She was riddled 
by the shells and seemed about to sink. 

The commander signalled for the Niagara to draw 
—238— 



THE COMMANDER 



near, and calmly taking his colors, he jumped into a 
small boat and was rowed across the water through the 
fearful rain of shot and shell. Arriving on the Niagara, 
he angrily ordered the rest of the skulking American 
ships to the firing line. 

Undaunted by the loss of his flagship, he proceeded 
to close in. Fifteen minutes later he had completely 
annihilated the English ships. 

The carnage was fearful; the English ships were 
shot to pieces and were in a sinking condition. The 
British lost about one-third of their entire fighting 
force. The American loss was about the same, but 
they won the battle, forever ending the power of the 
English on the Great Lakes and reclaiming the great 
Northwest for the United States. Few naval battles 
have had such momentous results. The victory prac- 
tically ended the war and drove the English out of 
American territory. 

^'We have met the enemy, and they are ours,'' was 
the brief but sufficient report from the brave naval 
officer to the American people, — a saying that has since 
become famous in American history. No victory was 
ever more entirely due to the genius and bravery of one 
man, for he practically fought the entire British fleet 
single-handed, and without the support of more than 
two or three of his ships. 

As the truth became known, the great commander 
became the idol of the American people, and the man of 
the hour. Congress, recognizing his great work, gave 
him a gold medal and promoted him to the rank of 
commodore. 

After the war, this American naval hero cruised 
through the Mediterranean sea, performing many feats 
of daring courage. In the year 1819, he sailed for South 
America. While cruising up the Orinoco river he was 

—239— 



HERO TALES 



stricken down by yellow fever, and died at Port of 
Spain, in Trinidad, before his loving men could bring 
him back to his native land. He was therefore buried 
on a foreign shore. In the year 1826, his remains were 
brought to the land he loved, and a monument to-day 
stands there in memory of the brave and beloved hero 
of Lake Erie — Oliver Hazard Perry. 

On the beautiful public square of the great city of 
Cleveland, Ohio, near the spot where Perry won his 
victory, stands another noble monument in his honor. 



"Again Columbia's stripes, unfiuTd, 
Have testified before the world. 

How brave are those who wear them; 
The foe has now been taught again 
His streamers cannot shade the main 

While Yankees live to share them. 

"The victory gained, we count the cost, 
We mourn, indeed, a hero lost! 
Who nobly fell, we know, sirs; 
Who left a living name behind, 
Much honored by the foe, sirs. 

"Huzza; once more for Yankee skill! 
The brave are very generous still! 
But teach the foes submission." 



— 240« 




THE TALE OF THE DYING WARRIOR 
WHO STORMED A CITADEL 



This is the tale of a warrior 
who, while dying of a fatal disease, led his army against 
the stronghold of the French in America and planted the English 
flag on its rocky cliffs, winning one of the greatest victories in 
the world's warfare and establishing the English tongue in America. 

IT WAS at the time when England and France were 
struggling for the mastery of North America. 
The war of American independence had not be- 
gun. Englishmen, Scotchmen and Irishmen in 
Great Britain, and their descendants and relatives in 
America, were living under one government, and were 
united in their attempt to destroy the power of France. 
At this time, in 1758, the stronghold of France on 
the Western Hemisphere was the city of Quebec, the 
capital of Canada, and it must be captured if the Eng- 
lish tongue was to conquer the new world. A remark- 
able statesman, William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, was 
prime minister of Great Britain, and he had succeeded 
in rousing the enthusiasm and confidence of the Eng- 
lish-speaking people everywhere. The enemies of 
England were being repulsed. Clive was successful in 
India and had established British power by the battle 
of Plassey. The Dutch were driven back. The Spanish 
were losing ground. 

In America, France still retained Canada, which 
Pitt determined to wrest from her at any cost. He 

—241— 



HERO TALES 



looked alSout him for the right man to accomplish the 
work. 

A young infantry-officer, slim, red-haired, of a some- 
j what unusual personal appearance, had been attracting 
considerable attention by his brilliant exploits. He had 
been in the English army since fourteen years of age, 
and, in 1757, had shown such bravery and ability that 
^ the prime minister gave him command of an expedi- 
tion against the French fortress at Louisburg, which 
he captured. This led to his appointment as com- 
mander of the expedition against Quebec — in reality 
the gigantic task of saving North America to the Eng- 
lish-speaking race. 

It was the twenty-seventh day of June, in 1759. 
The young brigadier-general, only thirty-two years of 
age, landed his army of 9,000 men on the Isle of Or- 
leans, four miles below the French capital of Quebec, 
which had one of the strongest natural fortifications in 
the world, defended by more than 16,000 French sol- 
diers and Indians, with a hundred cannon. 

The towering capital of France in the New World, 
protected by the mighty St. Lawrence on one side and 
the Eiver St. Charles on the other, frowned down from 
the height of more than 300 feet, on the English forces 
below. The great city, built on solid rock, with its walls 
as steep as those of a Norman castle, seemed impreg- 
nable. The French believed it impossible for any army 
to scale them. 

For two months and a half, the besieging English 
failed to make any impression on the stronghold of the 
enemy. Their attacks were repulsed by the deadly dis- 
charge of the cannon, and, with disease as an ally, the 
English forces were seriously weakened. 

The daring young general was himself besieged by 
an enemy greater than that of all the armies of the 

—242— 



THE DYING WARRIOR 



world combined. His own life was ebbing away with a 
fatal disease — he was fighting death. 

*^It is hopeless,'' said one of his officers. ** Quebec 
can never be taken." 

The young general surveyed the precipitous bluff 
that challenged his courage. His sharp eyes discovered 
a narrow path winding among the rocks to the summit. 

^^I will lead my army up that ascent," he resolved, [ 
**or die in the attempt." 

It was a beautiful starlight night on the twelfth of 
September, in 1759. A fleet of small boats glided down 
the river with the ebb tide, and 5,000 soldiers soon . 
stood at the foot of the great rocky heights, ready to ^ 
decide the destiny of a continent. 

The pallid-faced young general inspected his troops. 
His countenance told its own tale, and on his lips was 
the line of the poet Gray : 

**The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

^ * Gentlemen, " he said to his officers, *^I woujd . 
rather have written *An Elegy in a Country Church- \ 
yard' than to have the glory of beating the French ! 
to-morrow." 

A narrow path, hardly wide enough for two men 
side by side, led from the edge of the river to the plains 
above. A French sentry called out a challenge into the 
night. An English officer, who had fought in the wars 
against the French and knew their tongue, gave quick 
reply. The sentry, believing that the advancing column 
was his own troops, awaited its approach and was 
seized and held prisoner, thus warding off the danger 
of alarm. 

"When the morning sun fell on the Plains of Abra- | 
ham, the brilliant uniforms of 5,000 English soldiers 
flashed in the light. The French commander was so 
astonished that he could hardly believe his own eyes. 

—243— 



HERO TALES 

^ 



The English army had climbed the steep cliffs and 
scaled the ' impregnable '^ heights. The audacity of 
the movement chagrined the great French commander. 
A rain of fire fell on the English lines. "With calm self- 
possession the young general held his troops in reserve. 

^^Not a single shot must be fired/' he ordered, ^* un- 
til the enemy is within thirty yards.'* 

On came the French soldiers in defiant bravery. 
The English battle-lines wavered. 

Crash! Crash! A thundering volley of musketry 
broke from the English guns. The French lines 
wavered and heaps of dead lay upon the ground. An- 
other volley ; then another still echoed along the plains. 

^^ Bayonets! Charge!" ordered the English com- 
mander. 

The blades flashed in the sunlight. There was a 
clash of steel. The French lines fell back. In the 
front of the onslaught stood the young English com- 
mander, leading the grenadiers. A shot shattered his 
wrist. He grasped at his handkerchief and tightened 
it about the bleeding wound. Another shot struck him 
in the groin. Without faltering, he urged on his 
troops in a terrific onslaught. There was a crash of 
musketry. The young general staggered. His sword 
fell from his hands. His face grew deathly pale, and 
he sank to the ground unconscious, his hands clasped 
to his bleeding breast. 

*^They run! See how they run!" rang through the 
lines. 

The young English general, as if imbued with new 
life, struggled to his elbow. 

^^Who run?" he demanded, like one aroused from 
deep sleep. 

**The enemy, sir," was the answer. *^They give 
way everywhere." 

—244— 



THE DYING WARRIOR 



He brushed his dazed eyes with his hand. 

''Cut off their retreat/' he ordered. ''Do not let 
the enemy escape.'' 

"The order has been obeyed," reported an officer, 
a moment later. 

"Now God be praised, ' ' murmured the failing voice, 
I will die in peace. ' ' 

This is the tale of the immortal James Wolfe, the 
conquerer of Quebec, who died at the moment of his 
great victory, in the consciousness of an heroic task 
well done. The English flag was planted on the citadel 
of Quebec, where it still remains, and North America 
was saved for English civilization. 



"Now fling them out to the breeze, 

Shamrock, thistle and rose, 
And the Star-Spangled Banner unfurl with these, 

A message to friend and foes. 
Wherever the sails of peace are seen 'and the war wind blows. 

"A message to bond and thrall to wake. 

For wherever we come, we twain. 
The throne of the tyrant shall rock and quake 

And his menace be void and vain. 
For you are lords of a strong young land and we are lords of the 
main. 

"Yes, this is the voice on the bluff March gale, 

'We severed have been too long; 
But now we have done with a wornout tale. 

The tale of an ancient wrong. 
And our friendship shall last as long as love doth last and be 
stronger than death is strong.' " 



—245— 




THE TALE OF THE SAINTLY FRIEND 
WHO LOVED HUMANITY 



This Is the tale of a Friend 
whose heroic kindness and Implicit faith In 
hunnanity led her through dangers that threatened her life. 
It is the tale of a people who count truth greater than riches and 
whose creed is to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. 

IT WAS when America had just become a nation. 
The struggles of the Eevolution were over. Tens 
of thousands of lives had been placed on the altar 
of liberty, and men were now settling down to the 
great struggle — the struggle of everyday life, with its 
hourly demands upon courage. The new nation had 
shown to the world that it was the land of patriots in 
war ; and now it was calling to duty its patriots of peace. 
The year was that of 1793. In a pious family on the 
Nantucket coast in Massachusetts, was a little girl. 
Her parents were Quakers — children of God — and 
from their lips there never fell an unkind word or com- 
plaint. Their people had been the first whalers of the 
Atlantic. They built the first lighthouse that cast its 
radiance out upon the seas, as a shining beacon to ships 
in distress, or to point their way through shoals of rocks 
to safety. They had become the first friends of the red 
man and had taken him to their hearts as a poor brother, 
teaching him to plough, to sow the land, and to reap the 
riches of nature. 

It was in such a home as this that little Lucretia 
—246— 



THE SAINTLY FRIEND 



Coffin formed her first impressions of life; and, when 
twelve years of age, she was taken to the city of Boston, 
the center, then as now, of New England's learning and 
culture. 

^'It is against the principles of Christ to shed 
blood, ' ' she had heard her mother say many times. So 
the stories of Bunker Hill and Lexington, which were 
dear to patriotic Boston, caused her to shudder. 

*^ Quakers are cowards,'* was the children's retort. 

*^We are not,'' she would answer, bravely. ^^We 
will go to war and care for the wounded, but we will not 
take our brother's life." 

As Lucretia grew to girlhood, she became impressed 
with the thought that honor was the world's greatest 
possession. One day she was knitting. In the con- 
versation of those about her, she heard some slighting 
word spoken of womanhood. Quick as a flash, she 
arose and closed the lips of the speaker, who sank away 
in shame, while the girl went on with her knitting. 

^^ Happiness is but the outcome of right and duty," 
she would tell her young friends, when they complained 
of being discontented. * ^ The greatest wealth is peace 
of mind. ' ' 

The second war with Great Britain broke out. 
Again the American flag waved triumphant, and the 
Stars and Stripes were carried on to the seas. 

But Lucretia grieved that the price of progress 
should be paid in human lives. When she was twenty- 
five years of age, she decided to consecrate her life to 
humanity, and entered the ministry of the Friends in 
historic old Philadelphia, under the very shadow of the 
hall where American independence had been born. 

Within the heart of this birthplace of liberty were 
men and women whose bodies and lives were bought and 
sold like chattel. 

—247— 



HERO TALES 



'*This must not be/' she exclaimed, "in Christian 
America ! ' ' 

With her friends, she held meetings and organized 
societies to help and encourage the slave. Public 
opinion was strongly against her. The negro had been 
the white man's property since the foundation of 
America. Slavery was an established system of trade. 

^'What right has this woman to interfered This 
was the protest that passed from the coast of Ne^ 
England to the farthest borders of the frontier. "The 
negro was born for servitude. It was God's intent.'* 

The peaceful woman, whose only interest was 
humanity, went calmly on her way, as her sense of 
duty led her. She was refused a hall in which to hold 
her meetings, and so — she built one, and dedicated it to 
freedom. A storm of public opinion was directed 
against the new hall. Not since the days of the struggle 
for independence had the people been aroused to 
greater excitement. Shortly after Lucretia Coffin had 
consecrated her life to humanity, she had married and 
had become Mrs. Mott. Her name was now heralded 
through the states, for her theories threatened the 
^'property interests" of the nation. 

It was three days after the dedication of the hall of 
freedom, which she called "Pennsylvania Hall." A 
crowd of excited men were gathered in the streets. The 
agitation increased as the evening wore on. The 
mayor was notified, but did not respond. Larger and 
more menacing grew the crowd, until it became a 
mighty mob. A stone was hurled through the street. 
There was the crash of breaking glass. The entrance 
door to the hall creaked and groaned. Then it gave 
way, and the mob rushed into the auditorium. 

"Fire! Fire!" they shouted, and the anti-slavery 
hall was in flames. Even the firemen, who answered 

—248— 



THE SAINTLY FRIEND 



the alarm, stood by while it burned, and protected only 
the surrounding buildings. 

As the flames were leaping into the night-sky from 
the new anti-slavery hall, the crowd howled with glee. 

^ ^ Come on ! Come on ! ' ' was the shout. * * Let us do 
the job right, now it is begun I ' ' 

Expecting that their home might be attacked, the 
Motts had removed their children to a neighbor's house, 
but Lucretia Mott and her husband refused to flee, and 
sat in the parlor of the little home as though awaiting 
the arrival of guests. 

The mob rushed down Arch Street to Ninth, where 
stood the modest dwelling. Just as they were approach- 
ing the house, a cry was heard. 

^ ^ On to Mott 's ! On to Mott 's ! ' ' 

A youth took up the leadership directly in front of 
the house, and fled down the street, the mob following 
at his heels, yelling wildly. The loyal lad was a Quaker 
and knew the Motts ; his quick wit had saved their home, 
the mob burning another building farther along the 
street, under the belief that it was the Mott home. 

Several years later, Lucretia Mott was attending 
the annual meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society in New 
York. It had no sooner assembled than a mob gath- 
ered, and, crowding about the edifice, it threw stones, 
hooting and yelling at the people within, and even 
attempting to throw vitriol upon them. The company 
was calm and unafraid, but had to abandon its business 
and adjourn. On opening the door, a terrible scene — 
a fearful bedlam — was presented. The speaker and 
members of the society were buffeted and roughly 
handled by the mob, and it looked as if a tragedy were 
at hand. Lucretia Mott, unmoved in that awful ordeal, 
stood calm and serene; not a word, expression, or 
gesture betraying that she knew the emotion of fear. 

—249— 



HERO TALES 



^^Here, Joseph/' she safl to her escort, ^^will you 
care for these two women friends? They seero 
worried/' 

**But who will care for thee, LucretiaT' he asked. 

Eeadiness is often the characteristic of great souls. 
It was of Lucretia Mott. .Calmly she looked about her ; 
nearby stood a beetle-browed ruffian, apparently some 
sort of a leader or hero of his followers — certainly one 
of the roughest of them all. 

Going up to him, Lucretia Mott said in her ordinary 
tones : 

**My friend, will thee kindly give me thy arm 
through the crowd 1 ' ' 

The fellow's manhood was touched, and he helped 
the good Quaker woman through the mob. 

Lucretia Mott's life had been saved by her heroic 
calmness and her implicit faith in humanity, which 
alone should be a lesson to generations to come. 

It was largely through the calm and determined 
bearing of the Quakers that public opinion was suffi- 
ciently aroused against slavery to effect its final down- 
fall; and among the names of all of that noble band, 
none shines more brightly on the page of history than 
that of Lucretia Mott. 



*The peace of God was on her face, 
Her eyes were sweet and calm, 

And when you heard her earnest voice 
It sounded like a psalm. 

'In all the land they loved her well; 

From country and from town 
Came many a heart for counsel, 

And many a soul cast down. 

"Her hands had fed the hungry poor 

With blessing and with bread; 
Her face was lilie a comforting 
From out the Gospel read." 

—250— 



THE TALE OF THE CONQUEROR WHO 
CARRIED THE FLAG INTO MEXICO 



This is the tale of the conqueror 
who marched triumphantly through old Mexico and unfurled 
the American Flag in the proud Spanish Capital where .t waved 
over the palace of Montezumas and proclaimed to t;^%^°^'^^*„^,f* . 
the Republic of the United States was to dommate the Continent. 

THE day was the ninth of March; the year 1847. 
The American army, twelve thousand strong, 
stood before Vera Cruz, in old Mexico, under 
command of a dignified general who was 
devoted to the display and pomp of war. 

The territory of Texas had revolted from the rule 
of Mexico and called upon the United States for assist- 
ance in her struggle for liberty. The American army 
had been dispatched into the disputed region and had 
forced its way through the hostile country by brilliant 
charges against the Mexicans, until now m all its splen- 
dor, it held the ancient land of the Aztecs. 

A short distance above the city of Vera Cruz was 
the impregnably fortified Castle of San Juan de Ulloa. 
For four days the Americans bombarded the stub- 
bornly defended stronghold, raining storms of shell into 
the fort The Mexicans, unable to endure the terrible 
fire, surrendered, and the city of Vera Cruz fell. 

The march now began against the Mexican capital. 
Through the dense tangle of the forests, the army 
toiled, cutting down trees and underbrush, and drag- 

— 251 — 



HERO TALES 



ging their camion over lofty hfls, until they reached the 
mountain-pass of Cerro Gordo. Here the Mexicans 
had thrown up fortifications, to hold the American 
army. The position seemed unassailable. But the 
dignified general determined not to be stopped and sent 
troops to cut their way around the base of the mountain. 
Up its side the brave soldiers hauled their cannon until 
they had reached the rear of the enemy. 

The Mexicans felt secure in their stronghold, but a 
plunging fire upon their rear and front, soon changed 
their serenity into panic, and they fled from their posi- 
tion in terror. This disastrous defeat struck fear into 
their hearts and when the invading army reached the 
city of Puebla it met with no resistance at all. 

The dignity and military punctiliousness of the 
American commander had earned him the nickname 
* * Old Fuss and Feathers. ' * But his impressive stature, 
strict discipline, and adherence to military etiquette 
were carrying triumph in their path. He finally rested 
his army at Puebla for nearly three months, awaiting 
reinforcements for the final march on the great Mexican 
capital. 

On the seventh day of August, the American gen- 
eral, with eleven thousand soldiers, advanced. After 
three days of fearful struggle under the fierce sun, 
through the almost impassable forest paths, they 
reached the mountain range surrounding the beautiful 
valley of Mexico. It was a magnificent sight, — that 
brilliant Mexican cajjital, in the center of the rich and 
fertile valley, and surrounded on all sides by towering, 
snow-clad peaks, even in the tropical heat of summer. 

The entrance to the city was guarded by thirty 
thousand Mexican soldiers and well garrisoned forts. 
Turning to the south, the American commander led his 
men through the forests, by devious and difficult paths, 

—252— 



THE CONQUEROR 



until he reached the intrenched camp of Contreras, 
The darkness was so intense that the men had to keep 
hold of each other to avoid being separated. In the 
morning the Americans completely routed the Mexi- 
cans. They were now within fourteen miles of the goal 
that they had so gallantly fought to reach. The same 
day they advanced on the strongly fortified Churu- 
busco, garrisoned by twenty-five thousand. 

For many hours the brave Americans fought 
superior numbers, with varying fortunes. It seemed 
at one instant as if they were defeated. Then in a 
brilliant rally, and with an irresistible charge, they 
drove the Mexicans out in complete rout. 

Cheer after cheer rent the air. There — over the 
walls of the ancient capital — appeared a white flag of 
armistice. Under this protecting flag the Americans 
rested, believing there need be no further bloodshed. 
An outpost rushed into the American camp. 

^^The treacherous Mexicans are taking advantage 
of the truce to strengthen their works,'' he reported. 
The dignity of the American commander burned in^^ 
fury. 

** Drive them into the mountains,'' he ordered. 

In the face of the enraged Americans' fearful fire 
the strong fortifications fell one after the other. The 
capital city was conquered. American valor was vic- 
torious. The war was over. 

On the fourteenth of September, the conquering 
military commander triumphantly entered the city, and 
soon the American flag was flying over the palace of 
the Montezumas. 

For these brilliant achievements, he was honored 
with the rank of lieutenant-general, and high in the 
annals of military daring was enrolled the name of 
Winfield Scott. 

—253— 



THE TALE OF THE MECHANIC WHO 
FORCED THE WORLD TO TAKE HEED 



This is the tale of a mechanic 
who brought new tidings to a world that would 
not listen and then forced the nations to heed his message. 
It is a tale of the struggle to rise above poverty, of the self 
reliance and the resolute purpose that wins all the great battles of life. 

IT WAS on the thirty-first day of July, in the year 
of 1803, that this boy was born in Sweden. 
Struggling through youth in the direst poverty, 
in the effort to acquire an education, he soon 
found that his life-work was to be mechanics. When 
twenty-six years of age he made a locomotive that had 
the then terrific speed of fifty miles an hour. 

At this time the methods of fire-fighting were 
primitive and many disastrous fires caused great loss 
of property. The young inventor turned his attention 
to fire-engines and soon had one completed that was an 
instantaneous success. It was taken around Europe 
and placed on exhibition in the largest cities. 

Invention after invention followed in rapid succes- 
sion, and the young inventor determined to emigrate to 
the United States. He arrived in New York on the 
second day of November, in the year 1839. The United 
States navy had no steam vessels then, for, though 
two vessels had been equipped, they had never been put 
into practical operation. 

Thus, the United States navy was an open field for 
—254— 



THE MECHANIC 



the talents of the young inventor. Its officers were op- 
posed to the introduction of steam, and he was forced 
to wait three long years ; but, through the assistance of 
influential friends at Washington, the brilliant mechanic 
received permission to build a vessel. The usual delay 
attending Government business occurred, and the in- 
ventor was forced to wait for still three years more 
before beginning his task. The result of his genius was 
the Princeton, the first screw-propelling ship in the 
country. 

Never at rest, he next turned to the armament of 
ships-of-war, and soon had a cannon of wrought iron 
mounted on the Princeton. Always busy, with ideas 
crowding on ideas, he now revolutionized the fighting 
ships of the American navy. His ideas often seemed 
wild and impracticable to outsiders, but he labored on 
in the face of ridicule and opposition, and perfected 
many valuable improvements and inventions, for which 
the American people will ever be grateful. 

It was in 1862, during the struggle between the 
North and South, that the Swedish inventor reached the 
climax of his career and brought forth the most famous 
of all his creations. The Confederate navy was de- 
cisively defeating the Union navy in terrific engage- 
ments. The Government at Washington had repeatedly 
declined to build iron-clad vessels, and, when the in- 
ventor offered his model of a new style of fighting ship, 
he was ridiculed and turned away. 

^^I'll build you an iron-clad,'' he said to the govern- 
ment officials ''that will withstand the fire of any ship 
on the sea.'' 

''You may try it at your own risk," replied the offi- 
cials. "We cannot promise to pay you unless your idea 
proves practical." 

One hundred days later, a strange craft, half-ship 
—255— 



HERO TALES 



and half-raft, slipped from ner moorings at Greenpoint, 
Long Island. It was a weird-looking fighting ship, 
about one hundred and fifty feet long, but hardly any 
part of the vessel rose much above the water; in the 
center of the deck there was a round turret, with two 
port-holes, through which the muzzles of cannons could 
be seen. Altogether, the little vessel looked like *^a 
cheese-box on a raft. ' ' 

On the ninth of March, in 1862, this strange craft 
ploughed the water of Hampton Eoads. In the dim 
light of early morning, she crept up beside the Union 
warship, the Minnesota, At six o'clock in the morning 
appeared the dread of the Union navy, the Confederate 
ram, Merrimac, bearing directly for the Minnesota, 
Suddenly, from behind the big frigate, the little Moni- 
tor dashed forward and engaged the Confederate ram 
in battle. The Confederate ship, with contempt for the 
little ** cheese box," fired a steel-tipped shell at the 
impudent little vessel. Great was their amazement 
when the heavy shell glanced from the turret of the 
Monitor and plunged into the sea. Shell after shell was 
fired at the daring little vessel, only to bound off into 
the water. For six hours the little Monitor withstood 
the terrific fire of the Merrimac. Finally, the Merrimac, 
damaged and leaking, withdrew and fled to Norfolk, 
leaving the field to the unharmed little Monitor, 

The **foolish notions" of the ^impractical" in- 
ventor had saved the day in a critical naval battle. The 
marvelous little iron-clad Monitor was master of the 
sea. The navies of the world were first amazed and 
then convinced. An inventor in America had revolu- 
tionized ocean-warfare, and his name — John Ericsson, 
— was on the lips of the world. 



—256— 




THE TALE OF THE MAJOR-GENERAL 
WHO FOUGHT AS A COMMON SOLDIER 



This is the tale of a major-general 
who stood in battle-line as a private and 
willingly gave all the glory to his fellow officers. It Is a tale 
of the unselfishness and fidelity of a man who gave his life in 
the first organized battle of the struggle for American Independence. 

IT WAS the seventeenth day of June, in the year 
1775. The colonists had received warning that 
the British, located in Boston, intended fortifying 
Bunker Hill, a position commanding the city of 
Boston, and the surrounding country. The American 
patriots determined that this should not be done. The 
scene was impressive as the gray-haired president of 
Harvard College called upon God for protection as the 
farmer-soldiers marched from Charlestown to Breed's 
Hill, a more commanding site than Bunker Hill. In 
the moonlight the men worked hurriedly, throwing up 
entrenchments, but so silently that the British did not 
hear them, although the patriots were so near that they 
could hear the sentinel's, ** All's well," from the King's 
army. 

The dawn was approaching before the British were 
aware that they had been out-maneuvered. Hastily 
forming ranks, they prepared to drive the colonists 
from the hill. The English general crossed the river 
with three thousand men. Across the river, in the 
city of Boston, the anxious mothers and wives and 

—257— 



HERO TALES 



children were on house-tops watching the preparation 
for battle. 

The signal to advance passed along the British 
lines. Up the hill the red-coated soldiers marched in 
brilliant battle-array, with flags flying and drums beat- 
ing. 

Behind the breastworks the farmer-patriots lay^ 
awaiting the command to fire. On came the King's 
soldiers until they were within ten rods of the re- 
doubts. The patriots were impatient to begin the fray. 

*^Fire when you see the whites of their eyes/' was 
the order that ran down the lines. 

A sheet of flame and a storm of bullets greeted the 
British soldiers as they reached the brow of the hill. 
The havoc was terrible; whole platoons of English 
soldiers fell. Again from the breastworks came a vol- 
ley of musketry. The British, unable to endure the fear- 
ful rain of bullets, fled down the hill, and out of range. 

The smoke of burning Charlestown covered their 
retreat and gave them help to reform their disordered 
ranks. Once more they attempted the ascent of the 
bullet-swept hill. As they came on, they were met with 
a fiercer fire. Again they fled down the hill. The 
British, chagrined by the repulse, sent for reinforce- 
ments. With the larger army they started for the 
third time up the slope, now to be met with a feeble 
fire in resistance. 

The ammunition of the colonists had given out. 
Over the redoubt, the red-coated soldiers dashed to be 
met with a hail of stones and clubbed with muskets. 
The fighting was furious. In the midst of a struggling 
body of British soldiers the schoolmaster-soldier was 
desperately warding off the bayonets thrust at him. A 
British soldier who knew the patriot to be a major- 
general, despite his clothes, seized a musket and with 

—258— 



THE MAJOR-GENERAL 



deliberate aim fired. The schoolmaster (reeled and fell 
to the ground — dead. 

The colonists, without powder or bullets, were forced 
to evacuate their position, driven out by the superior 
numbers of the King's men. America had lost one of 
her truest sons, who, refusing to wait for his commis- 
sion as a general, had taken up arms in the ranks in the 
cause of the great principle. 

An English commander, when he heard of the death 
of his worthy foe, paid tribute to the memory of the 
brave patriot, saying: **He was worth five hundred 
ordinary rebels.'' 

And in all the annals of battle there is not a more 
unselfish example of heroic fidelity to country than 
that of the schoolmaster of Bunker Hill — General 
Joseph Warren. 



**Stand! the ground's your own, my braves! \ 

Will ye give it up to slaves? \ 

Will ye look for greener graves? \ 

Hope ye mercy still? ] 

What's the mercy despots feel? i 

Hear it in that battle-peal! j 

Read it on yon bristling steel! I 

Ask it,— ye who will. • 

*'Fear ye foes who kill for hire? 
Will ye to your homes retire? 
Look behind you! they're a-fire! \ 

And, before you, see | 

Who have done it!— From the vale ] 

On they come!— And will ye quail?— 
Leaden rain and iron hail 

Let their welcome be! 

"In the God of battle trust! 

Die we may,— and die we must; i 

But, oh, where can dust to dust ■ 

Be consigned so well, j 

As where Heaven its dews shall shed , j 

On the martyred patriot's bed, 1 

And the rocks shall raise their head, 

Of his deeds to tell!" 

—259— 



THE TALE OF A WOMAN'S COMPASSION 
IN THE WORLD OF DARKNESS 



This is the tale of a homeless woman 
who devoted her life to the world's most unfortunate and 
brought light into their realm of dismal darkness; who appealed 
in the compassions of her heart to humanity to lend a helping 
hand to the suffering, and created a new era in the world's civilization. 

A GIRL of fourteen years, she found herself 
facing one of the world's greatest problems 
— self-support, and in addition, she must also 
support two younger brothers. 
**I know I can earn a living, '^ she said, **I can teach 
the children that are younger than I. I will open a 
private school. ' ' 

The child school-teacher stood before her little pu- 
pils with a resoluteness of purpose that inspired them. 
To give herself an older appearance, she lengthened her 
skirts and her sleeves. Although scarcely older than 
the children that she taught, her seriousness com- 
manded their respect and affection. 

At nineteen, this child-teacher was the principal of 
a boarding-school in which were the daughters of many 
prominent men of the time. Her strong moral in- 
fluence had brought her reputation and success. 

The early burdens of life wore upon her. Her blue 
eyes, their warmth chilled by gray, as though sorrow 
had early crept into her sunny skies, showed failing 
health, and those about her became greatly worried. 

—260— 



A WOMAN'S COMPASSION 



^^I do not fear to die/' she said, ''but I cannot bear 
the thought of leaving my little brothers ; while I live/' 
she added, ''I will make myself useful to humanity." 

As she looked about her, she found many who were 
in deeper trouble than herself; some of them with 
burdens almost too great to bear. She found that 
there were greater afflictions in the world than physical 
sickness; there was moral sickness— more hideous in 
its torment and suffering than any bodily disease. 

It was in the year 1841. This young woman was 
visiting the unfortunate in the House of Correction at 
East Cambridge, in Massachusetts, when the moans of 
the wretched came to her ears. Imprisoned in a room, 
in filth and unspeakable horrors, were human beings 
who had lost their reason, many of them through way- 
wardness and dissipation. Her young heart went out 
in compassion for them in their misery, and in that 
compassion burned the fires of justice. 

''It is true that they have lost their reason," she 
admitted, "and it may be the penalty of their own 
wrong-doing, but they are human beings, they are our 
fellowmen, and we must protect them." 

"This is my mission in life," she decided, and with 
the decision, she began an investigation of the treatment 
of the mentally afflicted. She found that civilization 
looked upon the loss of reason as a curse, and upon its 
victims as wild beasts, to be chained and bound in 
irons. Her eyes rested upon sights which she did not 
know existed in a Christian world. She saw men and 
women in cages, closets, stalls and pens. Sometimes 
they were naked. Often they were cruelly beaten into 
submission. The gentle voice of this woman cried out 
in protest. 

Hostility and abuse were the response which came 
back to her. 

—261— 



HERO TALES 



^ ' It is all humbug, ' ' declared the political leaders. 

A legislator, after attacking her statements on the 
floor of the House, declared that he and some of his 
committee would go to her and silence her forever. 
As they entered her home, they were met by the gentle 
face and voice of this woman. 

^^ We came to inquire about these allegations against 
our institutions," the leader said coldly. 

The woman, smiling, told him of her experiences. 
She described the misery and fearful sufferings that 
she had witnessed. As she appealed to the hearts of 
her visitors, the legislator, after sitting spellbound for 
an hour and a half, arose and stepping to her side, 
exclaimed : 

* ' Madame, I bid you good night. I do not want, for 
my part, to hear anything more. The others can stay 
if they wish to. I am convinced. You have conquered 
me out and out. If you'll come to the House and talk 
there as youVe done here, no man that isn't a brute 
can withstand you. When a man's convinced, that's 
enough. The Lord bless you. ' ' 

The heart of the nation was aroused. Thousands 
came to her support, while countless others denounced 
her. She became a political issue in Massachusetts, 
and the legislature, after a heated discussion, passed 
an appropriation to remove the insane from the jails 
to institutions where they could receive mental treat- 
ment. 

The life-work of the woman was now just begun. 
She went from Massachusetts to Ehode Island, and on 
and on until she had visited all the states East of the 
Eocky Mountains. Everywhere her eyes rested upon 
the same inhuman conditions that she had found in 
Massachusetts. In the treatment of its mental unfor- 
tunates Christianity had turned pagan, civilization had 

—262— 



A WOMAN'S COMPASSION 



become savage. She visited the prisons and alms- 
houses. Her appeals to humanity were overpowering. 
As she journeyed through the country, she wore a 
simple dress of plain gray for traveling, and appeared 
in severe black on public occasions, frequently wearing 
a shawl about her shoulders. 

One day, while in Rhode Island, she went to see a 
millionaire who had no special fondness for benevo- 
lence. He tried to baffle her with commonplace gener- 
alities, which she met with kindness. At last, rising 
with commanding dignity, she announced the purpose 
of her interview. 

The financier, hardened though he was by a life de- 
voted to mere money-getting, listened. Her low-voiced 
eloquence appealed to him. 

^'God will not hold us guiltless for the neglect of 
one of the least of his creatures,'* she declared. 

^^But what would you have me doT' inquired the 
rich man. 

''Give fifty thousand dollars toward a new asylum 
for the insane, ' ' she answered. 

' ' I will do it, ' ' he replied. 

Some months later this woman, now a broken-down 
invalid, weakened by her travels and labors, stood be- 
fore Congress. For six years she pleaded with the 
government for better laws for the insane and the de- 
fective, and at last her wisdom and humanity con- 
quered the hearts and minds of the statesmen. 

It was in 1854. A bill before Congress was for an 
appropriation of 12,225,000 acres of public lands — 
about 20,000 square miles — to be apportioned among 
the states for the care of the insane, allowing the odd 
225,000 acres for the deaf and dumb. The bill swept 
the Senate by more than a two-thirds majority, and 
passed the House by a plurality of fourteen. 

—263— 



HERO TALES 



The woman wept with thanksgiving. 

*^I must resist the deep sympathies of my heart/' 
said President Pierce, as he returned the bill to the 
Senate without his signature and bearing his veto. 

The worn woman was crushed by this defeat, and 
she was taken across the seas to recover her lost 
energies and strength. But her life-mission weighed 
upon her, and, immediately upon her arrival in Scot- 
land, she began an agitation there for the remodelling 
of its lunacy laws. The august officials resented the 
intrusion. She turned toward London and there found 
that the Lord Provost of Edinburgh had hurried to 
the capital to oppose her. 

Against political intrigue, she secured the sym- 
pathy of Lord Shaftsbury, the Duke of Argyle and Sir 
George Gray, the home secretary, and, within two 
months, by appointment of Queen Victoria, secured 
two commissions of investigation, the result of which 
caused parliament to rise to the defense of the mental 
sufferers and to revise its laws on modern principles of 
Christian brotherhood. 

The conquest of civilization by an invalid American 
woman was now well begun. When she entered Italy, 
in 1856, she found the prisons and hospitals of ancient 
Rome in confusion and disorder. A few days later she 
stood before Pope Pius IX, and appealed to his bene- 
ficence. He expressed himself as surprised and 
shocked at the details of her recital, and, on the follow- 
ing day he fell unawares on the officials and personally 
investigated the conditions in the prisons, which he 
found to be only too true. The result was the purchase 
of land and the establishment of a retreat for the men- 
tally afflicted of the great metropolis of the ancient 
civilization. 

Cries of distress from all parts of Europe called 
—264— 



A WOMAN'S COMPASSION 



this American woman from Eome. In Athens, Con- 
stantinople, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Vienna, Paris, 
Florence — everywhere she carried the new light of 
science to those who were suffering under the shadow 
of a great affliction. 

The gloom of a great civil war fell upon her beloved 
America. And as the cannon boomed, under the flag 
that she loved, she carried the compassion of her heart 
to the wounded and dying and offered her invalid life 
to her country as a superintendent of nurses. It was 
through her efforts that many monuments were erected 
to the Union soldiers who had fallen on the field or 
perished in the prison pens or hospital wards. It was 
she who sent to the coast station, the life-saving ap- 
pliances and libraries for the rescuers of the ship- 
wrecked. It was this woman who brought to the army 
and navy compassion for the heroes who had become 
insane in the service. It was this good Samaritan 
whose name ran through every state in the Union, 
across Canada, and around the world — appealing to 
the universal heart of humanity. 

And yet, this great woman, whose soul was over- 
flowing with love for all humanity, was herself a home- 
less wanderer. This life spent for the happiness of 
others was poured out in loneliness and suffering. 

One day a white-haired lady of about eighty years 
of age, plainly dressed, and bent by the weight of years, 
entered the insane asylum at Trenton, in New Jersey. 

* ^ This is my first-born child, ' ' she said. * * It is here 
that I want to die. ' ' 

Five years later this beneficent life passed away 
so quietly that the world hardly knew that she was 
gone. Those for whom she had labored did not know, 
and could not love. Over her lifeless form they could 
not grieve ; they were in darkness that knows no grief. 

—265— 



HERO TALES 



But there is One who knows and One who loves, and 
to those all-embracing arms she passed with the tender 
words: *^Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the 
kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the 
world, for I was hungry and ye gave me meat ; I was 
thirsty and ye gave me drink ; I was a stranger and ye 
took me in; naked and ye clothed me; sick and in 
prison and ye visited me. ' ' 

And as the light of His face falls upon her, we can 
hear the echo of the voice of Him who gave his life to 
save humanity: ^'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me/' 

This is a story of the heroism of peace — the story 
of Dorothea Lynde Dix, one of the noblest of American 
women. 



"The truths ye urge are borne abroad 

By every wind and every tide; 
The voice of Nature and of God 
Speak out upon your side. 

"The weapons which your hands have found 

Are those which Heaven itself has wrought, 
Light, Truth, and Love;— your battle-ground 
The free, broad field of Thought." 



■266— 




THE TALE OF THE WOUNDED CAPTAIN 
WHO WOULD NOT GIVE UP HIS SHIP 



This is the tale of a wounded captain 
who resented the insult to his flag and ordered his 
nnen not to surrender when he lay dying on the deck. It is a 
tale of the dauntless spirit that won for the American flag the ad- 
miration of the world and made it respected wherever it sailed the seas. 

IT WAS in March in the year of 1813. The United 
States and England were engaged in a struggle 
for the mastery of the seas. A doughty sea- 
fighter was sent to Boston to take command of 
the ship Chesapeake, after his brilliant victory over the 
English ship-of-war, the Peacock, in South American 
waters. 

He found a mutinous crew and dissatisfied officers, 
grumbling over prize-money that they thought should 
have been paid to them. He labored long and patiently 
to quiet and appease them, and to overcome their incom- 
petency, for most of them had but little experience in 
warfare. 

It was upon a day in May that the English warship, 
Shannon, appeared off the harbor of Boston and dared 
the Americans to come out and engage in battle. The 
American commander could not stand the taunts of 
the British, and, despite his mutinous crew and poor 
officers, he prepared to take up the challenge. 

On the first of June, the American fighting ship, 
Chesapeake, moved out of the harbor to battle with the 

—267— 



HERO TALES 



Shannon. The two vessels were apparently evenly 
matched; but the English ship was commanded by a 
daring captain, who for seven years had sailed with the 
same crew under his direct command, and they were 
highly trained in naval warfare. The American ship 
was commanded by a very brave and efficient officer, but 
his men were insubordinate and untrained. 

The Shannon moved towards the American ship, 
and, when within range of her heavy guns, opened the 
engagement with her thundering broadsides. The 
Chesapeake was damaged by the first fire, but still kept 
on her course. 

Again the Shannon hurled her fearful charges of 
shot and shell. The Chesapeake reeled and began to 
fall away, drifting helplessly, stern foremost, toward 
the English ship, which continued to belch forth its 
terrible broadsides into the crippled ship. 

The British sailors were in the mast-tops with their 
muskets, and the gunners were behind the cannon, 
sweeping the decks of the poor Chesapeake, The 
Americans could not reply, because of the position of 
their drifting vessel. As the two ships came together, 
the gallant American captain, ordered his men to board 
the English vessel and fight for their lives. 

The combat was fearful; wounded men lay every- 
where on the decks, while the hanging rigging brushed 
the sailors off their feet at every lurch of the stricken 
ship. Placing himself at the head of his men, the brave 
captain led the desperate attempt to board the Shannon. 
While climbing over the side to the British ship, he was 
struck by a bullet and fell, mortally wounded. Tender 
hands carried the wounded officer to the cock-pit and 
laid him with his injured sailors. 

The furious fire of the English again swept the deck, 
and the American sailors were forced to seek shelter 

—268— 



THE WOUNDED CAPTAIN 



from the pitiless onslaught. The English captain 
ordered his men to board the American frigate, and, at 
the head of fifty sailors, he led the way. Over the side 
they clambered onto the deserted deck. Eushing across 
the ship, they were met with the fire of thirty Americans 
who had rallied at the forecastle. Thirty-seven Eng- 
lishmen fell to the deck, dead ; but the Americans were 
finally overwhelmed by reinforcements, which the cap- 
tain of the Peacock had succeeded in obtaining. In the 
midst of the hand-to-hand combat, the dying captain of 
the American vessel shouted heroically: * 'Don't give 
up the ship. Blow her up. ' ' But the English, even as 
he closed his eyes in stupor, had assumed command of 
the Chesapeake, and the tattered American flag was 
hauled down. 

The intrepid spirit of the American captain had led 
him into a hopeless engagement with a superior fighting 
force, and, in spite of his courageous stand, the Chesa- 
peake, as an English prize, was carried off to Halifax. 

Four days later, he passed away, but the name of 
Captain James Lawrence will live in American 
annals and will serve forever as an inspiration to all 
generations. 



'Through the clangor of the cannon, 
Through the combat's wreck and reek, 

Answer to th' o'ermastering Shannon 
Thunders from the Chesapeake: 

Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying, 
Speaks with still unconquered lips 
Ere the bitter draught he drinks: 

Keep the flag fluing! 
Fight her till she strikes or sinks! 
Don't give up the shipT 



—269- 




THE TALE OF THE WOODSMAN WHO 
SAVED A GREAT SEAPORT 



This Is the tale of a woodsman 
who knew only what nature had taught him, but won his 
way from the forests through the battles of civilization to the 
highest honor within the gift of the American people. It is a tale 
that throbs with the spirit of American pluck and American opportunity. 

IT AVAS the eighth day of January, 1815. Great 
Britain and the new republic of the United States 
were engaged in their struggle for supremacy. 
The tide of the war had swept into the South, and 
the two armies were face to face at New Orleans, in 
Louisiana. The American army of five thousand men, 
most of whom had never been in battle before, were 
defending the city against the attack of the British with 
ten thousand tried and trained soldiers. 

The American officer had fortified the city with 
bales of cotton, thrown up as breast-works, behind 
which his riflemen crouched, ready for the foe. This 
was to be their first actual battle, and the Americans 
watched for the first signs of the approach of the 
British with sturdy courage. 

Early in the morning, through the river mists, the 
brawny commander, tall and rough, espied the ap- 
proaching Englishmen, and, when they were within 
range, he calmly gave the order to his artillerymen to 
fire. The silence of the morning hours was shattered 
by the heavy discharge. Through the cannon smoke, 

—270— 



THE WOODSMAN 



the advancing English were seen to waver, bnt quickly- 
rallied under the sharp commands of their officers. 

Again, the American battery hurled its fearful 
charge at the brave men, and, though the shell tore 
their lines apart, they quickly closed ranks and came on 
with a rush. Now they were within range of the Ken- 
tucky and Tennessee riflemen, who rained a storm of 
bullets into the ranks of the advancing men. The 
British soldiers, unable to endure the destructive fire, 
broke and ran for shelter. 

The Americans had not escaped unscathed the bul- 
lets of the English. Little spurts of fire were shooting 
up from their embankment. The entire line of cotton 
bales burst into flames, ignited by the exploding English 
shells. The Americans tore at the blazing pile of cotton, 
trying to push it into the river before the British should 
return to the attack. With poles and rifles they dug 
and tore and pushed until their fortification plunged 
into the river. The blinding clouds of steam obscured 
the sight of the approaching English. With smarting 
eyes the Americans tried to pierce the veil of black 
smoke that hung between them and the rapidly ad- 
vancing lines of English, which had been greatly in- 
creased by reinforcements. 

The wind from the river was thinning the black 
curtain, and finally the Americans were able to see the 
enemy, now close at hand and rushing to the attack. 
With redoubled fury, the Americans shot at the British 
troops, but the enemy did not falter, though they fell 
by hundreds. 

The grim American commander, mounted on his 
war-horse, ^^Old Whitey,'' rode up and down his lines 
and calmly directed the fire. *^01d Hickory,'' he was 
affectionately called by his soldiers, and now he looked, 
indeed, as strong as the trunk of a tree. Disregarding 

—271— 



HERO TALES 



the danger to himself, the grim fighter gave his orders 
and encouraged his men. 

Up to the very earthworks of the Americans came 
the brave English, their gallant general in the lead. 
Then, just as they were about to rush upon the em- 
bankment, they seemed to halt. Their intrepid com- 
mander had been mortally wounded. The loss of their 
leader threw the ranks into confusion. Turning, they 
fled, casting aside their arms as they ran. 

The battle was over. The determined men, under 
*^01d Hickory,'' had held the American flag over New 
Orleans. On the streets of the Southern city, along the 
outskirts, lay two thousand wounded and dead — but 
among them were only eight Americans. 

The dauntless commander had won against over- 
whelming odds, and was now the hero of the war. Un- 
educated and without the advantage of gentle birth, 
his grim determination captured the American heart. 
And *^01d Hickory,'' as rough and as unyielding as 
the name his men had given him, yet with the common 
sense that neither money nor education can buy, was 
lifted by the American people into the Presidency of 
the United States — this son of nature, Andrew JacksQu. 



"Hall, sons of generous valor, 
Who now embattled stand. 
To wield the brand of strife and blood. 
For Freedom and the land. 

"And hail to him, your laurelled chief. 
Around whose trophied name 
A nation's gratitude has twined 
The wreath of deathless fame." 



■272- 




THE TALE OF THE PLOUGHMAN WHO 
HEARD THE ALARM OF HIS COUNTRY 



This is the tale of the ploughman 
who, when he heard that his country was In danger, 
left his plough in the fields and mounted his fastest horse to 
gallop to the battle-front. It is the tale of the stout hearts and the 
stalwart patriotism of the men who laid the foundation of the republic. 

IT WAS in the days of the American Eevolution. 
The battle of Lexington on the nineteenth of 
April, 1775, and the news of the death of seven 
Americans on the battlefield spread over the 
country like wildfire. The British, who had wantonly 
set fire to the stores of the colonists, devastating every- 
thing in their path, were now alarmed by the first resist- 
ance of the patriots, and were hastily retreating. 

In the fields near Pomfret, in Connecticut, an old 
man, without a thought of war, was peacefully plough- 
ing the land to plant corn, and urging forward his slow- 
moving farm horses. 

From a passing messenger came the words : **The 
British are on the march. In a battle they have killed 
seven Americans!'' 

The farmer listened to the words. Then he calmly 
unharnessed his horses, and without changing his work- 
ing clothes, mounted one of his horses and set off along 
the country turnpike for the distant city. Through 
small settlements he dashed, his horse covered with 
foam. All along the way he met other men hastening 

—273— 



HERO TALES 



to the scene, armed with old muskets, some with scythes, 
and others with pitchforks. The motley crowd hurried 
onward with their crude weapons, determination writ- 
ten on their faces. 

For eighteen hours the horseman kept his saddle 
and rode the hundred miles into Boston. Through the 
streets he clattered, and was soon standing before the 
American officer ready to enlist in the defense of his 
country. His experience as an Indian fighter, and the 
bravery and ability he displayed, won for him a posi- 
tion as Brigadier-General, and a few weeks later this 
ploughman was leading the Connecticut troops in the 
defense of Bunker Hill. 

He fought the British with gallantry and became 
such a menace to them that they offered him a position 
as major-general and a large sum of money if he would 
desert his country and join their army. With scorn and 
rage at the insult, he spurned the offer and fought with 
redoubled fury. 

It was the twenty-seventh day of August. The 
English were landing their troops on Long Island to 
attack the Americans garrisoned in a fort at Brooklyn. 
The defenders of the fort were greatly outnumbered 
but determined to hold their ground. The English 
general divided his force into three divisions. Under 
cover of the confusion of the advance, one division 
slipped to the rear of the fort, unseen by the Ameri- 
cans. The two divisions in front opened fire, and their 
screaming shells crashed into the fort. Answering 
sheets of flame burst from the American guns, sending 
their message of death into the ranks of the oncoming 
English. 

Suddenly, from the rear of the fort, there was the 
cry of the third division. The Americans turned in 
dismay. There, in command, stood the ploughman of 

—274— 



THE PLOUGHMAN 



Bunker Hill. Desperately, lie tried to drive out the in- 
vaders, only to have the English in front pour into the 
fort. The Americans were in a critical position. Their 
only hope was in escape. In perfect formation they 
slowly retreated amid the rain of bullets. The ranks 
were riddled and cut down ; but still in good order they 
moved, under the inspiring courage of their leader. 
Out of the four thousand defenders of the fort, one 
thousand were lost. Many of them were taken captive 
and imprisoned in the ill-famed Sugar House by the 
British, where they suffered unspeakable misery and 
privations — but three thousand American patriots 
were saved by the masterful discipline of the plough- 
man who had answered the nation's first alarm — Israel 
Putnam. 



''There rang a cry through the camp, with its word upon rousing 

word; 
There was never a faltering foot in the ranks of those that heard;— 
Lads from the Hampshire hills, and the rich Connecticut vales, 
Sons of the old Bay Colony, from its shores and inland dales; 
Swiftly they fell in line; no fear their valor could chill; 
Ah, brave the show as they ranged a-row on the eve of Bunker Hill ! 

"Now they are gone through the night with never a thought of fame. 
Gone to the field of a fight that shall win them a deathless name; 
Some shall never return again, or behold the set of the sun, 
But lie like the Concord slain, and the slain of Lexington, 
Martyrs to Freedom's cause. Ah, how at their deeds we thrill. 
The men whose might made strong the height on the eve of Bunker 
Hill!" 



—275-. 




THE TALE OF MAN'S AMBITION AND 
THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR 



This is the tale of man's ambition 
that leads to the ends of the earth and defies the 
dangers of nature. It is a tale of the Arctic and the suf- 
fering that man endures to conquer its mysteries; a tale that in 
its unselfish devotion and loyal friendship rejuvenates faith in manhood. 

IT WAS in the summer of 1903. The lure of the 
Labrador had challenged the ambitions of men 
since the very discovery of the western world. 
From the great center of modern civilization, the 
city of New York, two Americans bade good-bye to their 
homes and friends and started on the long journey 
toward this long-sought magnet of exploration. In 
them was the true pioneer spirit that many generations 
before had fired those dauntless men and women who 
opened up our land and prepared there a way for civil- 
ization. 

Labrador consists of a high plateau, lying mainly 
about two thousand feet above the sea-level. This 
plateau is full of little ponds and lakes which discharge 
their waters in rapid streams and rivers, flowing to all 
four points of the compass. Its temperature may rise 
to ninety degrees on a summer day, but frequently 
drops down to the freezing-point before the same day 
closes. Its winter is that of the Arctic regions. 

The American explorers planned to enter the coun- 
try from the northeast coast and make their way to the 

■—276— 



THE LABRADOR 



George Eiver, where it was reported the Nascaiipee 
Indians gathered yearly in late August or early Sep- 
tember to hunt the herds of caribou, which migrated at 
that season to the sea-coast. The Indians were said 
to kill great numbers of these caribou with spears, dry- 
ing their flesh for food for the winter, and curing the 
skins for clothing. 

It was in the fall of 1903 that the Americans landed 
on th.e coast of Labrador. Misfortune and hardship 
beset them in the very beginning and never left them. 
The rivers were found to be rapid and dangerous, far 
beyond their expectation. They saw no signs of the 
migration of the caribou or the Indians that hunted 
them. They were led astray by faulty and incorrect 
maps and misled by such vague bits of information 
as they were able to obtain from the few natives along 
the coast. The game upon which they had relied for 
food proved to be alarmingly scarce. 

Labrador was experiencing a famine, and the year 
1903 was the worst on record. Men cannot live long 
upon such food as they can carry on their backs, and the 
scarcity of game soon brought the two explorers face 
to face with starvation. In September, the Labrador 
summer changes rapidly into winter. The bitter cold 
made their condition still more desperate, and, toward 
the end of the month, they turned about for the return 
trip. From that time on, their sufferings from hunger, 
the deep snow, and its freezing weather, were intense. 
In the middle of October the climax came. Their pro- 
visions were exhausted. One of the Americans became 
too weak to go farther. 

^' Leave me here," he said to his comrade, *^and save 
your own life. ' ' 

In this desperate plight, it was decided that the 
comrade, with a half-breed Indian guide, must leave his 

—277— 



HERO TALES 



weakened friend, and go back to a spot where it was 
remembered that a bag, with a small amount of flour in 
it, had been left when they were coming in from the 
coast. This they were to divide, the comrade bringing 
part back to the starving explorer, and the half-breed 
retaining the remainder to support him while he tried 
to get back to the settlements to obtain help. 

A silence rested over the men in the death-like wilds. 

^^ Please read me the twenty- third chapter of Mat- 
thew, ' ' asked the starving explorer. 

His comrade opened a pocket Bible and read aloud : 

^^For whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased; 
and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.'' 

^'Now let me hear the thirteenth chapter of First 
Corinthians, ' ' asked the explorer. 

His comrade read the words : ^^When I was a child, 
I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as 
a child ; but when I became a man, I put away childish 
things." 

The moment of parting had now come. The com- 
rade leaned over the wan and weakened explorer. He 
touched his lips to the sad face. The sick man lifted 
his head and kissed the cheek of his friend. For a 
moment, they were in one another's embrace, their faces 
held close together. Then they drew away. 

There was a blinding snow-storm. The comrade and 
the half-breed guide pushed out into the tempest. Their 
clothing was soon frozen stiff from fording swiftly run- 
ning streams. Their faces were numb with cold. For 
two days they faced the beating storm. At dusk of the 
second day, they reached the camp where they had left 
the precious flour, only to find that nothing remained of 
it but a lump of green and black mould. 

^'I will try to get back to my friend," said the com- 
rade. *^You hurry to the nearest village." 

—278— 



THE LABRADOR 



The half-breed guide pulled from his pocket a 
leather-covered Book of Common Prayer. 
^'Eead it/' he begged. 

The book seemed to open of itself. The comrade 
bared his head as his eyes fell on the words of the 
ninety-first Psalm. 

^'He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High; 
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. ' ' 

Then they clasped hands and parted. 

The ten days which followed are almost beyond 
words to describe. Smitten with the blindness that 
often comes to men in that region, the comrade was 
unable to even read his compass or find his way. His 
clothes were so torn by the winds and wilds that they 
offered little protection from the terrific cold. As he 
forded the rivers, the waters froze upon him. His 
hardships and suffering so wrought upon him that his 
mind began to give way under the strain, and he heard 
voices — the voices of those long dead — that inflamed 
his mind and goaded him to suffering almost beyond 
human endurance. For ten awful days, he endured 
these torments. Then, just as he was sinking down into 
that sleep of cold and exhaustion from which there is 
no awakening, he was found by rescuers. 

The half-breed, George, had saved him. It had 
taken the guide seven days of hardship to make his way 
back to a human habitation. He had floated down a 
river on a raft, formed by tying a few logs together with 
his pack-strap and a bit of old fish-line. This flimsy 
craft threatened to go to pieces under him, and he had 
lain down and held the logs together with his arms, 
while the icy seas broke over him again and again. 
When he arrived at a settlement, half dead, women fled 
from him in terror, so dreadful was his appearance. 
As they reached the camp where they had left the 
—279— 



HERO TALES 



American explorer, they found him lying wrapped in 
his blankets: — dead. Beside him lay his diary, and on 
its pages his weak fingers had scrawled these words, the 
last in the book : 

*'Our parting was most affecting. — George said, 
*The Lord help ns, Hubbard. With His help I'll save 
you, if I can ! Then he cried. So did Wallace. Wallace 
stooped and kissed my cheek with his poor, sunken, 
bearded lips — several times — and I kissed his. George 
did the same and I kissed his cheek. Then they went 
away. God bless and help them." 

This is the tale of Leonidas Hubbard, the American 
explorer who lost his life in Labrador ; and his comrade, 
Dillon Wallace, an American lawyer, who was rescued 
by the faithful half-breed guide. Whenever men gather 
around the fire to relate adventures in the wilderness, 
the courage and devotion, the friendship and manhood 
of these men will ever move the strongest hearts. 



'Spirit of the frozen North, 

Where the wave is chained and still, 
And the savage bear looks forth 

Nightly from his caverned hill; 
Down from thy eternal throne, 

From thy land of cloud and storm. 
Where the meeting icebergs groan, 

Sweepeth on thy wrathful form. 

'Dark and desolate and lone, 

Curtained with the tempest-cloud. 
Drawn around thy ancient throne 

Like oblivion's moveless shroud, 
Dim and distantly the sun 

Glances on thy palace walls. 
But a shadow cold and dun 

Broods along its pillared halls." 



—280— 



THE TALE OF THE PHILANTHROPIST 
WHO GAVE HIS LIFE 



This is the tale of a rich man 
who became imbued with a great principle and offered 
his fortune to uphold it. it is a tale of philanthropy that can- 
not be computed in money, for the gift of this man was beyond 
the power of gold and silver; he gave his courage,.his valor, and his life. 

IT WAS late in the afternoon of the eighteenth of 
July, in 1861, that a regiment of men marched 
across Folly and Morris Islands from Port Royal, 
South Carolina, bent on an attack on the Confed- 
erates at Fort Wagner. In the lead was a handsome, 
soldierly man, fair and serene of countenance. Follow- 
ing, in perfect military formation, was the 54th 
Infantry Regiment, the first company of negroes sent 
forth to battle against their former masters of the 
South — as brave a body of men as any that participated 
in the fierce struggle of the Civil War. Colonel Robert 
Gould Shaw, a man of breeding, wealth, and education, 
had organized this regiment of blacks in Massachusetts, 
in face of abuse and ridicule, and despite all adverse 
criticism, had drilled them to the point of perfection. 
The feeling against the negroes in the North at 
that time, though not as intense as in the South, was 
still very bitter. 

This hated regiment had been selected because of 
its high military discipline, for the post of honor in 
the attack on Fort Wagner; and with brave hearts 

—281— 



HERO TALES 



they marched against the enemy to fight for the libera- 
tion of their race from slavery. Shaw had proven that 
the black man could be made into a good tactician, and 
now was his opportunity to demonstrate that he was 
also a good fighter. If such he was proven, no man 
could say that the men who fought bravely for their 
cause were not entitled to their freedom. 

At about seven o'clock the regiment was within six 
hundred yards of the guns of Fort Wagner. Behind 
the guns were the men who had been their masters for 
years, and felt nothing but contempt for the band of 
*^ niggers," and far greater contempt for the white 
man that led them. The regiment of black men, in 
their uniforms of blue, rested quietly; perhaps their 
hearts were filled with trepidation, all the more because 
they were fighting against the men whose slightest com- 
mand they had been accustomed to obey. 

At last the order was given them to advance. In 
the lead was the brave colonel, and the troops were 
encouraged by his serene confidence. Four hundred 
yards; three hundred; two hundred — and still not a 
shot from the fort. The silence was unnerving, but 
still they marched on toward the frowning cannon, led 
by their daring commander. 

They were now within one hundred yards of the 
fort. Suddenly, a sheet of flame flashed from its guns. 
The roar and shriek of shot and shell broke the silence. 
The enemy's aim had been deadly, and the black men 
fell by the score, mortally wounded. This was the 
baptism of the regiment in battle — their first fight — 
and it is no wonder that the front battalion wavered 
and seemed about to break and run. 

Unharmed, himself, the gallant commander turned 
and saw the indecision of his men. Sword in hand, 
he smiled encouragingly upon them. 

—282— 



THE PHILANTHROPIST 



^^ Forward, 54tli!'' lie shouted, and with cheers the 
black regiment followed him through the ditch and 
were on the parapet of the fort on the right before the 
enemy had realized that they had weathered the hail 
of shot and shell. 

The first man on the wall was the brave Colonel 
Shaw himself. 

Alone, he stood erect, a noble figure, in sharp relief 
against the distant horizon. 

^ ^ Forward, 54th ! ' ' again rang out his cry. 

The negro soldiers were now swarming over the 
walls, about to capture the fierce defenders of the fort. 

The brave figure in the van was suddenly seen to 
waver and then sink to the wall, mortally wounded. 
The men of the regiment were now without their leader, 
the sole inspiration of their attack. They wavered, 
broke, and tumbled otf the walls, in complete rout, 
leaving the fort still in the possession of the Con- 
federates. 

After the battle, the commanding general of the 
fort said to a Union prisoner : ^^Had Colonel Shaw been 
in command of white troops, I should give him an 
honorable burial. As it is, I shall bury him in the 
common trench with the negroes that fell with him.'' 

The ruthless words showed that slavery had been 
wounded to the death. Colonel Eobert Gould Shaw's 
work had not been in vain. The Confederate general 
little knew that he was really giving to the brave 
colonel the most honorable burial that he could have 
devised. 

In Boston there stands a monument to his memory 
because of his peculiar fortune to live and die for a 
great principle of humanity when the onward march of 
civilization was at stake. 



^283— 



THE TALE OF THE AMERICAN WOMAN 
WHO APPEALED TO WOMANHOOD 



This is the tale of a daughter 
of New England who braved the censure of the world in 
her desire to help womanhood. It is a tale of a life consecrated 
to the cause of ennancipation in which the ridicule of the genera- 
tion was conquered and a great nation listened to the appeal of reason. 

IT WAS in the year 1820 that a little girl came to 
bless a modest Quaker home in South Adams, in 
Massachusetts. It was a quiet village, and as the 
child grew, there was not much opportunity for 
her mind to be filled with ideas of the strange outside 
world. However, this demure little Quakeress had a 
firm will, and in spite of her natural timidity and the 
conservative influences of her home, she possessed the 
courage of strong convictions. 

The girl early became imbued with the spirit of 
liberty and entered into all the movements tending to 
free men from slavery, whether it were the mastery 
of the white man over the black, or the mastery of a 
passion over a soul. She believed that the demon rum 
was a greater enemy to humanity than even the tyranny 
of political government, and in her girlhood she began 
to fight all these foes of mankind. 

** Woman is a slave, '* she exclaimed. *^She is held 
down as an inferior being under a male master. The 
time will come when she will arise and throw otf the 
shackles that bind her. ' ' 

—284— 



THE AMERICAN WOMAN 



The words brought severe rebuke upon her. 

^'This woman must be suppressed,^' declared the 
political leaders. ''Her teachings are dangerous to 
both man and woman. ' ' 

''That woman is on an equality with man is all 
nonsense/' chimed in the scientific authorities. "She 
has neither the capacity nor the right to consider gov- 
ernment and political affairs.'' 

"The hand that rocks the cradle is mightier than 
that which carries the sword or governs the world," 
was the more diplomatic response of the statesmen. 

But neither denunciation nor persecution could force 
this woman to surrender. She had challenged her 
generation and was willing to stand the consequences. 
Her battles, while those of peace, were freighted with 
as mighty consequences as those of war. In her soul 
she felt this, and she stood on the firing-line of public 
opinion and led the conflict for the emancipation of 
womanhood. 

"Women of America," she cried, "How long are 
you going to submit to slavery!" 

Her words aroused thousands of women through- 
out the country, but many of them feared to join the 
movement openly. The custom of the times made it a 
disgrace for a woman to speak in public. In some in- 
stances it was necessary for women to hold their meet- 
ings secretly in order to protect their reputations. 

This woman found that she must not only fight for 
her womanhood but that she must break the chains of 
bigotry that bound her generation. 

"I will travel through every state in this great 
country," she declared, "and carry the message of 
liberty to woman. I will teach them that taxation with- 
out representation is tyranny ; that domestic servitude 
without effective expression of opinion is slavery." 

—285— 



HERO TALES 



As this woman appeared on the public platforms 
throughout the country, she was often jeered by the 
crowd and met by taunts and insulting remarks. Many 
men would not allow their wives and daughters to hear 
her speak. 

^ ^ The idea that a woman should have a right to vote 
or that she could even learn how to vote is prepos- 
terous,'' exclaimed political leaders. 

*^You trust the safety of your homes, the dearest 
possessions on earth, to the women," was the reply, 
*^but leave your government to ignorance and im- 
morality so long as it comes under the name of man. ' ' 

As this good Quaker woman was holding up the 
beacon of liberty and enlightenment to her generation, 
she was even scoffed at and hissed. One day, while she 
was traveling in the West, on one of her fearless cam- 
paigns, the clouds began to gather in the town where 
she was to speak. A terrific wind swept the community. 
The ugly clouds hung low as they swung down the 
valley. 

**It is a cyclone," oried the inhabitants, as they 
fled to the cellars of their homes and other places of 
refuge. 

*^Flee for safety," exclaimed one of the residents, 
excitedly, as the peaceful Quaker woman looked at the 
approaching storm. 

** Never mind," she replied, quietly. *^ After my 
many experiences, a little thing like a cyclone does not 
frighten me. ' ' 

It was during the presidential election of 1872. 

* ' It needs some decided act of rebellion to bring men 
to their senses," she decided, ^^some act that is peace- 
ful but decisive." 

With this conclusion she determined upon the war- 
fare. 

—286— 



THE AMERICAN WOMAN 



^^I will go to the polls and actually cast a ballot, '* 
she decided. 

She knew that snch a course would arouse the na- 
tion. It would be considered a direct blow at man's 
sacred right to govern. No martyr ever went to the 
guillotine with more courage than was required for 
this woman to go to the polls. Her rebellious intent 
was sure to create as great a political furore as did 
the famous ^'Boston Tea Party'' against ** taxation 
without representation. ' ' 

On this November election-day, dressed in her 
sombre Quaker garb, her kindly face set with determin- 
ation, this woman passed through the streets of Ro- 
chester, New York, where she was making her home. 
The ballot-box in those days was not as closely pro- 
tected as it is to-day. The Quaker woman passed the 
inspectors and greeted them with a low bow. In her 
hand she held a slip of paper, and as she approached 
the box she quickly jammed the paper into it. 

The election watchers sprang to their feet. The 
news swept through the town : * ^ A woman has voted. ' ' 
The astounding information passed over the whole 
country, and was met with expressions of contempt and 
indignation. 

^^You are under arrest," said an officer of the law, 
and the first woman to cast a ballot in America was led 
to jail. 

On the seventh of June, in 1873, the white-haired 
Quakeress stood before the court. 

^'You are accused of knowingly, wrongly, and un- 
lawfully voting for a representative in Congress in the 
eighth ward of Rochester, being a person of the female 
sex, ' ' charged the court. 

*^Not guilty," pleaded the woman in quiet dignity. 

* ^ I claim that my client has a right to vote, ' ' began 
-.287— 



HERO TALES 



the lawyer who had come to her defense, laying before 
the court the Constitution of the United States. 

Wlien the lawyer for the defense ceased to speak, 
the judge arose and took from his pocket an elaborate 
opinion which he proceeded to read, declaring that no 
woman had any right whatsoever to vote, and that no 
plea of ignorance or extenuating circumstances could 
excuse such a crime against the sacred right of the 
ballot and our system of government. 

*^ Gentlemen of the jury,'' he ordered, ^^harken to 
your verdict, as the Court has recorded it. You say 
you find the defendant guilty of the offense charged — 
so say you all. ' ' 

There was no answer from the jury-box. After a 
short silence, the judge concluded: *^ Gentlemen of 
the jury, you are discharged." 

The prisoner rose to her feet and attempted to 
speak. The crowd in the court-room broke into sneers 
and shouts of derision. 

*'The court imposes a fine of one hundred dollars," 
shouted the judge, above the hoots of the spectators. 

The Quaker woman glared at the jeering throng. 
Her piercing eyes turned toward the Judge. 

*^ Resistance to tyranny," she cried, *4s obedience 
to God. I shall never pay a penny of that fine ! ' ' 

According to the records of the court she never did. 

Years after, in this same town of Rochester, the 
body of this courageous woman lay in state in her home. 
The throng that had ridiculed her, and cast contempt 
upon her name, honored her as their first citizen, and 
the town in which she had passed through such perse- 
cution, mourned for days, with the American flag on 
all the public buildings at half-mast ; the passing of the 
woman who cast the first ballot in America — Susan B. 
Anthony. 

—288— 




B. ANTHONY. WHO GAVE HER LIFE TO EMANCIPATE WOMANHOOD 



THE TALE OF THE "WAR CHILD" OF 
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 



This is the tale of an Alabaman 
who fought for his conscience and offered his life for that 
which he felt n his heart to be right; who defended his honne 
when it was in danger and crowned his life by fighting for the flag 
of his country when its honor was attacked by an old world monarchy. 

\ 

IT WAS on the tenth day of September, 1836, that a 
boy entered the world at the city of Augusta, in 
Georgia ; a boy who was later to become one of 
the most beloved among all the men in this great 
United States. 

At the early age of ^ve years the boy's parents died 
and he was sent to Cheshire, in Connecticut, to live with 
his mother's relatives. There he attended school until 
the age of fourteen, and then he began to earn his own 
living in New York City. Through influential friends, 
he received an appointment to West Point, and, in 
1859, he graduated with the rank of second lieutenant 
of the United States army. 

He served with the Fifth Dragoons in New Mexico, 
with great honor, in scouting expeditions against the 
Indians, and, at the outbreak of the Civil War he re- 
signed his commission in the United States army and 
joined the Confederacy, in the defense of the principles 
and traditions of the land of his birth. His bravery 
soon won him the title of ^*War Child," and, when the 
Confederates heard of his departure upon some dar- 

—289— 



HERO TALES 



ing expedition, the whisper would run down the lines : 
* ^ The War Child rides to-night. ' ' The dashing cavalry- 
officer ^s alertness and readiness were manifested 
throughout the whole course of his brilliant military 
career. When he was harassing the Union army 
around Chattanooga, the Union officers complained that 
* ' the War Child has an unpleasant way of calling before 
breakfast, when he should be ninety miles away. ' ' 

His remarkable and fearless attacks on the Union 
army won him rapid promotion in the ranks of the 
Confederates, and he was the most feared of all the 
Confederate officers. The Union soldiers dubbed him 
** Fighting Joe.' ^ The nickname was misleading. He 
did not love war. He was opposed to bloodshed, but 
was always ready to stand up in defense of what he 
thought his rights, against all comers. It has been 
said, that before going into battle and before retiring 
at night he would invariably offer prayer. 

When the great conflict between the North and 
South ended, the ^'War Child '* had gained the title of 
major-general, at the age of twenty-nine. He retired 
to private life in Wheeler, down in Alabama, and fought 
just as energetically to make his comrades forget the 
war as he had fought for victory for the Confederacy. 
To this man is due much of the honor for bringing the 
North and South into the harmony that now exists be- 
tween them. 

The adored idol of Alabama was steadily re-elected 
to Congress by his staunch friends and fellow-citizens, 
and was serving the government with the same vigor as 
that with which he had fought against it, when the 
Spanish- American war broke out. 

**I want to fight for the old flag again,'' he said, as 
he offered his services to the United States Govern- 
ment, * * in any capacity. ' ' 

—290— 



THE "WAR CHILD*' 



A Northern senator, who was an ex-Union officer, 
was one of the first to give strong endorsement to the 
old warrior of the gray in the days long gone. He and 
several influential men called on President McKinley 
and made known their mission. 

The great president listened to their story, and then 
exclaimed: ^^Why, of course, I am going to appoint 
him a general. ' ' 

^^I am mighty glad to hear it,*' responded the 
Northern senator. * ' And I want to tell you, Mr. Presi- 
dent, why I regard ' Fighting Joe* as one of the greatest 
generals this country ever produced. He gave me 
more trouble during the war than any other dozen men, 
and scared me so that I think it must have stunted my 
growth. ' * 

*^ Before the war ended,** continued the senator, ^^I 
found that he had chased me pretty much all over seven 
states, and I guess if Lee hadn*t surrendered, ^Joe* 
would have taken my scalp, for he was getting closer all 
the time.'* 

It was the second day of May, in 1898. The old 
warrior of the gray now stood as a major-general of 
the volunteer army of blue in command of a cavalry 
division, which, under the leadership of the old *'War 
Child of the South, * * took a prominent part in freeing 
the Island of Cuba from its Spanish oppressors. 

While the American people will always have a warm 
place in their hearts for their loyal warriors, it is tender 
sentiment that makes true heroes. Fighting against 
the government, thirty-seven years before, this old war- 
rior now led his army in the defense of his former foe 
when it was threatened by foreign powers and its honor 
was attacked. 

The people of the North and South alike rejoiced 
over his prowess. It was probably the happiest mo- 

—291— 



HERO TALES 



ment in the old warrior's life wlien lie donned the blue 
again and fought nnder the United States flag. History 
has but few parallels of this remarkable case. Loved 
and respected by both North and South, when this old 
warrior died on the twenty-fifth day of January, 1906, 
his body was carried through a great throng to the 
National Cemetery, and buried with the impressive 
military honors due his rank, and the re-united Ameri- 
can people together mourned their dead hero — General 
Joseph Wheeler. 



'Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done, 
In the storm of the years that are fading 

No braver battle was won: 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the blossoms, the blue, 

Under the garlands, the gray. 

'From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go. 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe: 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the roses, the blue. 

Under the lilies, the gray. 

'No more shall the war-cry sever. 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Love and tears for the blue, 

Tears and love for the gray." 



—292— 



THE TALE OF THE WIRELESS OPERATOR 
WHO SAVED A THOUSAND LIVES 



This is the tale of an operator 
who remained at his post of duty while his ship was 
sinl<ing and stood the first test of a new science of wire- 
less telegraphy. It is a tale close to the hearts of living men 
and women, who felt the thrill of its splendid fidelity to humble duty. 

IT WAS early in the morning of the twenty-third of 
January in 1909. A heavy fog rested over the 
sea off Nantucket, on the Atlantic coast. The 
great ocean liner Republic, bearing more than a 
thousand lives, ploughed through the darkness of the 
night. The officers stood on the bridge throughout the 
long night's vigil. The dead silence of the hour was 
broken only by the beat of the ship's engines and the 
dash of the sea on the bow. 

Her precious cargo of humanity was sleeping peace- 
fully in the heart of the vessel that had weathered a 
thousand fogs and storms, and had always brought its 
cargo safely to port. 

Suddenly, out from the darkness, like a great weird 
phantom, loomed a ghostly, heaving figure. The 
engines of the huge ship thundered. The sea rose in 
tempest. 

Then, there was a crash that sounded like worlds 
coming together in terrific collision. Men, women, and 
children were thrown from their berths. Shrieks of 
terror, and the moans of the injured, mingled with the 

—293— 



HERO TALES 



orders of the officers on the bridge, and the roar of the 
sea that swept the decks of the great ocean greyhound. 

**The ship is sinking," went up the cry from the 
terror-stricken passengers, who were crowding to the 
decks. 

*^ There is no danger," came the reply from the calm 
officers. 

The sound of rushing water echoed through the 
ship. The bow of another vessel was crunching at its 
side. 

The great floating palace shuddered and floundered. 

Suddenly, the lights went out and the ship was in 
utter darkness. Visions of a horrible death at sea in 
the midst of winter appeared to the frightened pas- 
sengers. The waves were dashing above the doomed 
ship. The early morning air was bitter cold. 

It was in scenes such as this that a youth, twenty- 
five years of age, whose greatest income had been but 
twelve dollars a week, stood at his post of duty before 
the wireless telegraph instrument carried by the Re- 
public, and calmly flashed into the clouds the message 
that caused the ships of the sea to pause and turn about 
in their courses and sent a thrill throughout the civil- 
ized world. 

*'C. Q. D." *^C. Q. D." '*C. Q. D." 

Jack Binns, the wireless telegraph operator on the 
ill-fated steamship, had just turned in after a hard 
day's work, and had composed himself to a well-earned 
rest, when the shock of the impact of the two ships threw 
him out of his berth. As with every true hero, his first 
thought was of duty. He rushed to the wireless ap- 
paratus and tested the mechanism. Finding this in 
working condition, he then tried to find the cause of 
the uproar. His first impression was that the ship had 
run aground, but it was so dark outside that nothing 

—294— 



THE WIRELESS OPERATOR 



could be distinctly seen. Discipline then called him to 
report to his captain, but the decks were strewn with 
wreckage, and fearing to stay away from the only means 
of succor, he returned to his post, there to send out to 
the world that code message which has since become 
famous, the ^^C. Q. D/' message of distress. 

While laboring in his little office, endeavoring to get 
in touch with the outside world, he was called to the 
bridge by the captain. He made his way through the 
wreckage with the assistance of the captain's steward, 
and reported to that officer the encouraging news. 

This intelligence brought cheer to the passengers 
who were huddled on the deck. 

Binns returned to his office. Again the call **C. Q. 
D.'' was flashed into the clouds. A little electric spark 
pulsed through his machine. It was Nantucket! His 
distress call was answered. 

*^ Thank God!'' exclaimed Binns, *^we are saved.'' 

Then began the dramatic happenings of which 
^'Jack" Binns was the heroic central figure. ** Crash! 
Crash!" sputtered the electric message to the distant 
station : * ' The Repuhlic. We are shipwrecked ! ' ' 

Flashing back to the heroic operator came this mes- 
sage to cheer the endangered men, women and children, 
and to tell them that there was assistance at hand: 
' ^ All right, old man. Where are you ? ' ' 

^'Republic rammed by unknown steamer. Twenty- 
six miles southwest of Nantucket Lightship. Badly in 
need of immediate assistance, ' ' was the reply that sped 
through the clouds over-seas to land. 

The water creeping in through the breach in the 
ship's hull had smothered the engines. The complete 
darkness added to the already great horror. The cold 
and the pitiless waves dashing alongside the ship struck 
terror to the stoutest heart. 

—295— 



HERO TALES 



Down in the bowels of this great Atlantic liner there 
was a man, a hero, laboring with the shovel and maul, 
feeding the one small engine that controlled the wire- 
less telegraph. The rest of the crew, their usefulness 
over, now that the larger engines had grown cold, had 
fled to the deck, but this heroic fireman remained at his 
post, knowing that the passengers' safety depended 
upon his labor. 

The brave Binns stood like a soldier on duty, work- 
ing under tremendous difficulties; his cabin torn to 
fragments by the impact of the Florida and in utter 
darkness ; his sending key-lever broken, he was holding 
the lever together with one hand and sending with the 
other. At daybreak his eyes fell on two bodies, victims 
of the terrible collision, at the threshold of his cabin 
door. Benumbed and hungry, he searched for food, 
and found in an old coat-pocket an apple, which he de- 
voured with avidity and washed down with a drink 
of cold water. This was the breakfast that was to carry 
him through that awful day of suffering. 

Suddenly, out of the waste and fog, came an answer 
to his first distress call. The Baltic, a sister ship of the 
Republic, had taken his appeal from the clouds and was 
coming to the rescue. 

Then came other messages, and still more. All the 
vessels within a radius of a hundred miles were rush- 
ing to the succor of their sister-ship. 

The Florida, not being injured as badly as the 
Republic, returned to the assistance of the vessel with 
which she had collided. With the waves dashing along- 
side, and the bitter, searching winds of winter benumb- 
ing the thousand scantily clad men and women, hu- 
manity required that they be placed safely aboard the 
Florida. Throughout the bitter hours the lifeboats 
darted from the ships. The captain, with his officers, 

—296— 



THE WIRELESS OPERATOR 



and Binns, were all that were left on the fast-sinking 
Bepiihlic, 

The hours dragged by slowly through the afternoon. 
Darkness settled down early with heavy, thick weather. 
About six o'clock an explosion was heard near by. 

Binns, still at his post, flashed a message of inquiry. 
It was the Baltic, firing its signal bombs. Out of the 
intense darkness there loomed a great shape, lighted 
from end to end, a cheering sight to these nerve-racked 
men, — heroes all, who had thrust aside all thought of 
self to protect and save a thousand others. 

^^Jack^' Binns in telling about it exclaimed, ^*She 
was a blaze of light, and as I sat there in my little 
splintered cabin, the thought occurred to me that the 
most beautiful sight in the world is a ship at sea when 
that ship is needed to supply the link between death 
and life. ' ' 

Thus soliliquized the hero who had sat at his post 
for fifty-two hours without rest, and almost starving, 
doing his utmost without selfish thought to lessen the 
danger and suffering of his fellow-men, — which is, after 
all, the essence of heroism. 

But the heroism of the day was not yet done. When 
the Baltic came alongside of the Florida, officers and 
men began to transfer the passengers from the dis- 
abled Florida to the Baltic, This task was extremely 
difficult and perilous as there was a heavy swell run- 
ning, with the sea momentarily increasing, and causing 
the boats to bump against the gangway. There was the 
greatest difficulty in inducing the women passengers to 
leap at the right moment. Upward of 2,000 people 
were transferred during the night and the greatest 
credit is due to the officers and men for the magnificent 
and cool manner in which they conducted this most 
arduous undertaking, as it was only their strenuous 

—297— 



HERO TALES 



and unceasing work that prevented loss of life. Never 
was there a braver lot of men, whose courage was put 
to the crucial test. They came through the trying or- 
deal with colors flying, and reflected wonderful credit 
upon that most splendid of masters, Captain Sealby. 

The great Republic, was now sinking fast. 

Binns tapped the keys of the telegraph ticker for 
the last time: ^^ Wireless now closed.'' 

In a moment he was aboard a life-boat with the 
doughty crew, pulling stiffly toward the Baltic. Thou- 
sands of throats broke into cheers as the men came 
alongside. The crew of the sinking ship were about 
to respond to the welcome when Williams, the second 
officer, who was at the tiller, exclaimed : 

* * Now my hearties, steady. Keep cool and let them 
see us come up in good style." 

Without a word, the sailors ran alongside the gang- 
way with a discipline that comes only from life on the 
seas. 

There, like a fading ghost in the mists, tossed the 
sinking Republic. Deserted — to go alone to its last 
resting place in the graveyard at the bottom of the sea 
where thousands of good ships and brave men have 
gone before it — NO ! There on the deck of the lost ship 
stood the brave captain Sealby. 

He raised a megaphone to his lips : 

^ ' Leave me. I am all right ! ' ' 

These were the words that rang across the waters 
and thrilled the two thousand eager passengers now on 
the Baltic. 

Beside him stood the faithful Williams, his second 
officer, refusing to desert his captain and willing to 
follow his ship to the end. 

There was the sound like a shot from the deck of the 
Republic. 

—298— 



THE WIRELESS OPERATOR 



The sea opened like a cavern. One fleeting glimpse 
of the brave Republic and she was gone forever. 

A searchlight played on the spot where the ship 
was last seen. A heavy sea was running and every man 
was straining his eyes to follow the movements of the 
little boat from the revenue cutter Gresliam that was 
casting about in the hope of rescuing the brave captain 
and officer who had been swallowed up by the sea. 

There was a moment of intense anxiety. Then rous- 
ing cheers went up from the nearby ships. 

^* Captain Sealby is safe,^^ they cried exultantly. 
^^He and Williams have been picked up by the Gres- 
hamJ' 

When the Baltic steamed into New York harbor 
with more than two thousand souls aboard, there was 
an ovation, the like of which had never been seen before 
by a home-coming vessel. It was like the return of 
victorious warriors of old. The great tongue of the 
wireless had told the world of the daring rescue at sea. 
Captain Sealby and his officers, with the heroic Binns, 
were carried in triumph on the shoulders of the throng. 
Wireless telegraphy, the most modern and wonderful 
of sciences, had been tried and proved faithful, and 
two continents paid tribute to the brave heroes of the 
event which had already become the most famous and 
thrilling sea-story of the generation. 



Let all the world its tribute pay, 
For glorious shall be his renown; 
Though duty's was his only crown, 

Yet duty's path is glory's way. 



—299- 




THE TALE OF THE INDIAN PRINCESS 
WHO LOVED THE WHITE RACE 



This is tlie tale of an Indian princess 
who threw her life across the path of death for 
the sake of the white race. It is a tale that has passed 
down through the centuries until it has beconne folklore at the 
hearth of every home in the great republic of the Western Hennlsphere. 

IT WAS down in beautiful Virginia, in the days 
when its rivers and valleys were just beginning to 
know the presence of the white man. The news 
had gone back to the Old World that there was a 
land of untold riches, in whose soil could be found grains 
of precious gold. The adventurous white man had 
heard the call and his ships were daring the storms of 
the seas to bring him to the ^'Land of the Golden 
Fleece/' 

All unaware of the strange commotion that had fired 
the greed and ambitions of the powerful races on the 
eastern shore of the ocean, there lived in the Virginia 
valleys a black-eyed little maiden, whose lithe form, 
browned by sunshine and rains, danced lightly over the 
hillsides and meadows. 

The Princess — they called her — Princess Poca- 
hontas, and she was the daughter of the Great Chief, 
Powhatan, who reigned over a mighty tribe. 

The Powhatans lived in a village, far up what is 
now the James Eiver. Here it was that Pocahontas, 
the petted child of her father and a favorite of all who 

—300— 



THE INDIAN PRINCESS 



Knew her, passed her childhood in the freedom of the 
forest. As she grew into girlhood, the tribesmen de- 
clared, that in beauty she rivalled the flowers that kissed 
her feet, as she ran through the meadows. 

Princess Pocahontas was a maiden twelve years of 
age when the white men came from the ships and built 
their fort at the mouth of the river. This fort they 
built in fear of the red race, but little could the Princess 
understand their fear — for her own people stood in 
terror of these strange, pale-faces who wore on their 
bodies strange cloths as if ashamed of the forms that 
nature had given them. From the far-off hills she had 
caught glimpses of them as they felled the trees with 
great axes. They carried in their hands hideous 
weapons of torture that burst forth in flames and bore 
death on their tongues. They called them guns, but 
Pocahontas could not understand why they needed 
these weird contrivances, when their arms were strong 
and the bow and the arrow were faithful. After their 
fort was erected, and trunks of strong trees were en- 
circled about it, these white men set out to explore the 
land, and passed up the river, which they named in 
honor of James, their King, who was then on the throne 
of England. And they called the name of their fort, 
Jamestown. 

One day, while Pocahontas was in the forests with 
her people, there came to the Indian village a party of 
these strange white men, who asked for the chief of the 
tribe. 

A stout, strong man, with a strange, flowing beard 
on his face, such as she had never before seen, called 
to her to come to him. She feared their ghostly white 
faces and ran to her haunts in the forest. But when 
she saw that her tribesmen were near them, and the 
strangers were holding before them bright trinkets that 

—301— 



HERO TALES 

^ — 



glittered in the sunlight, her heart leaped with delight,' 
and she ran forward without fear. 

About her neck they placed a glittering chain of 
beads of all colors, and on her wrists they clasped 
broad bands of shining metal. Pocahontas laughed 
with delight. Never had she seen such beautiful gems, 
and she did not know that in all the world there could 
be things so beautiful. Surely she had never found 
them in the forests, and even the smooth stones, that 
twinlded in the sands of the river, were not as gorgeous 
as these. 

So the tribe of Powhatan, the great chief, became 
the fast friends of the white man. However, there 
were other tribes who did not feel so kindly toward the 
intruders, and intended to make them as uncomfortable 
as possible. They lurked behind the trees and hid in 
the thickets, and darted their deadly arrows at the 
white man's head whenever an opportunity offered. 
But through it all, the Powhatans remained staunch and 
true, and little Pocahontas traveled fearlessly back and 
forth along the forest trail to the white man's village. 
As the months went by, she rendered many services to 
the outposts. 

One day when John Smith, the commander, was 
exploring along the river, he was captured by the 
brother of Powhatan, who had the keenest hatred for 
the white man. A mock trial was held, and Captain 
John Smith was sentenced to death. If the captain 
expected that Powhatan would intercede for him, he 
was speedily disappointed, for Powhatan had been 
persuaded, much against his will, that death to the 
white men was the only protection of his people ; ' ^ for, ' ' 
argued the brother of Powhatan, ^ ^ they have come here 
to take our lands from us ; they have come to drive us 
from our homes ; they have come to beat us back from 

—302— 



THE INDIAN PRINCESS 



these shores to the jungle forests — these pale-faced, 
evil spirits from a foreign country. *' 

So preparations were made for his death. The 
block was set, and the gallant Captain was brought 
forward and bound. When he was laid upon the block 
the tribe gathered in wicked delight, and with wildest 
whoops and yells, danced round and round the unfor- 
tunate captain, as he lay prone and helpless. 

At last, the slayers were appointed. They stood 
waiting with their war-clubs raised high in the air, 
ready for the signal that would settle the white chief's 
doom. 

The last moment of the dauntless Captain seemed to 
have come. He had braved the wars with the Turks 
and he had been known on the seas as a daring adven- 
turer who had met and defeated death many times, but 
the end seemed now at hand. 

In the midst of this wild tumult stood a little child. 
It was Pocahontas, the beautiful Princess, earnestly 
pleading for the life of the white man. 

*']Ie is my friend," she said in her Indian tongue. 
^ ^ Spare him for me. He will not harm us. He is our 
friend. He has come to bring us rich trinkets and 
gifts. He is my friend! Don't take his life. Spare 
him for me." 

Angered by this interruption, the warriors drew 
closer about him, determined more than ever upon 
their revenge. The fatal war-club was raised. The 
tribesmen were hushed into an instant's silence. The 
muscles of the strong shoulders of the slayer were in 



tension, trembling for the fatal blow. 

There was a shriek like that of a broken heart. The 
tribesmen sprang to their arrows. The enemy must 
be approaching! But no! The enemy lay bound be- 
fore them with his head on the executioner's block — 

—303— 



HERO TALES 



and, lying across his body, was the Princess Pocahontas 
— who, as the death blow was about to fall, had thrown 
herself over its victim. 

The savages muttered in astonishment and anger, 
but fell back in fear. Piteously the child pleaded with 
Powhatan. The great chief looked into the face of his 
daughter. The tribesmen stood awaiting confidently 
his sentence of punishment upon her. His figure was 
erect, and his deep eyes seemed filled with emotion. 

**It shall be," he commanded in a firm voice that 
rang in the forests — *^as you will, Pocahontas." 

The tribesmen were too bewildered to answer. Only 
Opechancanough, the great chief's brother, broke forth 
in anger. 

^ ^ I will have my revenge ! " he cried and hurried into 
the forests. 

So it was that Pocahontas, the Princess, became the 
first real friend of the white race among the Indians. 
She rapidly took up their customs and learned their 
language and manners. When an expedition returned 
to Old England, she went with them to the land of her 
dreams, and there she was received with great homage, 
and called by them * ^ Lady Eebecca. ' ' She accepted the 
Christian religion, and sweet, indeed, is the ending of 
this romance of the first permanent English settlement 
in America, for the beautiful Pocahontas became the 
bride of the gallant John Eolfe, a proud English cav- 
alier of the New America. 



—304— 




THE TALE OF THE SHIPWRECK OFF 
THE COAST OF NEW ENGLAND 



I 



This is the tale of a shipwrec:; 
on a bitter cold night off the New England coast, and 
the bravery of the life crew that plunged into the stornn to 
rescue the lives of those who were cast away on the seas. It is a 
tale of men who make it their life work to save their fellows in danger. 

IT WAS in the year 1892, in the latter part of 
January, the month of bleak skies and stormy 
seas. The Canadian schooner, H, P. Kirhham, a 
small vessel, with a crew of seven, was plunging 
along through the icy, hill-high waves, oif the New Eng- 
land coast, driven by a gale of sixty miles an hour. 

In the dark of the early night, the flying vessel 
struck the hidden *^Rose and Crown*' shoals, with a 
fearful shock. The stunned lookout was hurled pros- 
trate. The masts snapped off close to the deck, like 
pipe-stems, and were soon dragging in the water. The 
seas breaking over the vessel, drenched the affrighted 
crew, as they huddled together in the stern. Almost in 
despair and overcome by terror, they tried to pierce 
the veil of night, hoping to get their bearings, but the 
black, raging sea cut off all view of the barren shore 
fifteen miles to the lee. 

Gathering courage in their danger, they loaded the 
little signal cannon. 

*^Boom,'' rang out the cannon's report, and that 
soul-stirring sound that only the issues of life and 

—305— 



HERO TALES 



death can bring forth, fled shoreward on the wings of 
the storm. 

In the dark heavens, a red flash appeared for an 
instant, a message of cheer and hope to the stricken 
men on the little schooner. 

A patrolman of the life-saving station, who had 
been walking along the beach, had heard their wail 
of distress, and had flashed his signal of hope, while, 
breasting the fierce, cold wind, he toiled back to the 
station, to call his comrades. 

The reeling patrolman burst in at the door of the 
little, red-roofed house and aroused his fellows. The 
surf men, clad in souVesters, hurried out to duty. 
Their duty was to reach those seven men on the 
stranded vessel, from an ice-bound shore, through fif- 
teen miles of ice-strewn, raging water. Their duty was 
to bring those seven souls to shore and safety, even if 
they lost their own lives in the attempt. 

The ^^Lyle" gun, which shoots a line out over the 
water to a wrecked ship, carrying a breeches-buoy, 
would not do ; it carries but half-a-mile. 

The regulation surf -boat would not last ten minutes 
in the tempest. So these heroic life-savers launched 
the big, clumsy life-boat, which has to be rowed with 
fourteen-foot oars, and steered by another in the stern. 
— It was not much like the modern forty-foot power- 
boat of to-day, which is practically unsinkable, and has 
a strong engine to drive her against the sullen waves. 

Pulling and tugging at the long oars, these men, 
with muscular arms and indomitable hearts, drove the 
boat through the whirling cakes of ice, over the tumul- 
tuous sea, out into the darkness of the tempest. 

The life-boat, insignificant as a straw in the grasp 
of the irresistible waves, struggled to reach the 
schooner before the terrible combers breaking, moun- 

—306— 



THE SHIPWRECK 



tain-high over the schooner, ripped the frail support 
from under the feet of the distressed crew. 

After hours of gigantic struggle, through the bitter 
wind that froze the dashing spray, coating their hands, 
faces and bodies with ice, they came alongside of the 
wrecked schooner. 

The vessel was a fearful sight, as the tremendous 
waves lifted her high and dashed her down with cruel 
force on the jagged rocks. In her hull was a gaping 
hole, through which the water was gurgling with a 
fearful noise. The deck was strewn with wreckage. 
Parts of the rigging, that the waves had not been able 
to wash overboard, but could whip around, threatened 
the lives of the seven terror-stricken men of the crew. 

In the dirty gray of the early day, the little life- 
boat was to be seen lying alongside of the wreck, rising 
and falling with the heave of the waves. The crew 
were rapidly transferred from the schooner to the 
life-boat ; all but one, who was raging up and down the 
deck, stark mad from fear, overcome by the terrible 
ordeal through which they had passed ; crying pitifully 
that he would not trust himself to that little eggshell 
of a life-boat. 

Seconds were precious. The brave life-savers 
could not stay there ; the schooner at any moment might 
go down, taking the life-boat with her. The captain of 
the life-saving crew fumbled in his clothes, and, when 
the life-boat rose on the next comber, he held in his 
benumbed fingers, a shining revolver. 

*'You jump,*' shrieked the captain above the noise 
of the tempest. *^ Jump, or I'll shoot.'' 

These men were heroes of the truest mould. Not 
only were they ready to risk their lives to rescue others, 
willing to be saved, but were ready to compel them to be 
saved even against their will. 

—307— 



HERO TALES 



The return to the beach, was not one whit less 
dangerous than their ontward trip, but the overloaded 
boat was manfully rowed through the sea. 

Twenty-three hours after they had left the beach, 
in the dead of night, the heroic crew landed. Through- 
out a long black night, and a whole gray day, con- 
tinuously fighting against death, without a moment's 
rest, in a bitter cold gale, and in a temperature of twelve 
below zero, these heroic men had struggled. And 
though sore and stiff, their hearts were happy in the 
knowledge of a noble deed well done. 

*^Now boys, stow away the boat and get your sup- 
per. 'Most time for sunset patrol to go out, said Cap- 
tain Walter Chase, as he turned to receive the kiss of 
his devoted wife, who, through all the painful hours 
of darkness had waited sleeplessly, offering prayers 
for his safe return. This was reward enough for the 
brave captain, but Congress deemed it fitting to send 
him, and his crew, medals for their exceptional bravery 
in the performance of dangerous duty. 



*Ah, the godlike stuff that's moulded in the making of a man! 
It has stood my iron testing since this strong old world began, 
Tell me not that men are weaklings halting tremblers, pale and 

slow,— 
There is stuff to shame the seraphs in the race of men— I know. 
I have tested them by fire and I know that man is great, 
And the soul of man is stronger than is either death or fate; 
And where'er my bugle calls them, under any sun or star. 
They will leap with smiling faces to the fire test of war." 



—308- 




THE TALE OF THE GALLOWS AND THE 
FATHER OF TWENTY CHILDREN 



This is tlie tale of the father 
who undertook to take the law In his own hands to 
dethrone a fixed custom of his people, to overthrow a system 
that had been enrooted into the politics of his nation, and who 
gave his life as the first sacrifce to a cause that martyred millions. 

IN THE early days of our country's history nearly 
every well-to-do American family in the North, 
as well as in the South, had its black slaves. In 
Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and all the his- 
toric American cities, long-established custom had made 
it the right of every white man to own blacks. Wash- 
ington, Jefferson, and all the first American statesmen 
had recognized the institution of slavery, and even the 
Puritan pastors of New England had maintained their 
negro slaves without compunction of conscience. 

As the hearts of the new American nation became 
imbued with the spirit of liberty, slavery began to meet 
with opposition, until there was a strong sentiment 
against it. Those who now opposed the system of the 
times were closely watched and branded as dangerous 
to the welfare of society. 

Among those who created suspicion by lifting their 
voices against this firmly established system, was a 
certain man, who was the father of twenty children. 
His first protest brought condemnation upon his head, 
and he was declared to be a *^ shiftless, irresponsible 

—309— 



HERO TALES 



agitator, who had never made a success of anything in 
life. ' ' He appeared before the public with an Utopian 
plan to establish colonies for negroes and to educate 
their children. The movement gained but few sympa- 
thizers at first, until a philanthropist offered a hundred 
thousand acres of land in upper New York State, for 
the promotion of the new idea. This brought many 
others to its support, and the name of the agitator began 
to be spoken with alternate denunciation and laudation 
throughout the country. 

The movement grew slowly through the years, but 
now and then felt the impulse of some new convert of 
eminence. The issue became one of political moment 
in the fifties, in the new territory of Kansas in the 
middle west. Should it be admitted into the Union as 
a free, or as a slave state! Orators stood in the United 
States Senate and argued in favor of the sentiment that 
was beginning to agitate the nation; while others re- 
futed them, and denounced the ^ ^ anti-slavery madness. ' ^ 

^ * The whole world alike. Christian and Turk, is ris- 
ing up to condemn this wrong, and to make it a hissing 
to the nations," declared Charles Sumner, of Massa- 
chusetts, on the floor of the Senate. 

**I hold that every state of the Union is a sovereign 
power, with the right to do as it pleases upon the ques- 
tion of slavery and upon all domestic institutions,'* 
exclaimed the ** Little Giant" Douglas, of Illinois. 

**A11 men are created free and equal," were the 
words that rang from the lips of the great Lincoln. 

It was in the midst of this excitement, on the six- 
teenth of October, in 1859, that the man who was the 
father of twenty children, and who had been a leading 
agitator of the movement, full of enthusiasm for the 
great cause, moved into Harper's Ferry, in conserva- 
tive old Virginia, with twenty-two followers. 

—310— 



THE GALLOWS 



**Come on, boys,*' he cried. '^Eemember, that a 
long life is not of so much concern as one well ended/' 

There was a drizzling rain. The little band marched 
to the United States arsenal, and proclaimed freedom 
to the slaves. 

**We have come,'' cried their leader, '*by the 
authority of God Almighty." 

The citizens were forced to take up arms in self- 
protection. The leader of the insurrection took quar- 
ters in the engine-house and refused to be dislodged. 
United States troops were called from Washington, but 
he, with but six men remaining, fought desperately. 
Two of his sons had lost their lives, and he was badly 
wounded, before he would surrender. 

Charged with treason, he was given trial and con- 
demned to death. As he stood before the court, he 
looked like a man of eighty, though he was but fifty- 
nine. His tall figure was bent, and his hair was whit- 
ened by the storms and tempests through which he had 
passed, in his aggressive determination to obtain 
freedom for the slaves. 

' ' Have you any reason to give why the sentence of 
this court should not be imposed?" asked the trial 
judge. 

^^This court acknowledges, as I suppose, the validity 
of the law of God," answered the old man. ^^I see a 
book kissed here which I suppose to be a Bible, or at 
least the New Testament. That teaches me all things 
whatsoever I would that men should do to me I should 
do even so to them. It teaches me, further, to remem- 
ber them that are in bonds, as bound with them. I 
endeavored to act up to those instructions. I say, I am 
yet too young to understand that God is any respecter 
of persons. I believe that to have interfered as I have 
done — as I have always freely admitted I have done — 

-^311— 



HERO TALES 



in behalf of His despised poor, was not wrong, but right. 
Now, if it be deemed necessary that I should forfeit my 
life, and shed more of my blood to mingle with the blood 
of my children and with the blood of millions of slaves 
whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, and 
unjust enactments — I submit; so let it be/^ 

The day of December second, in 1859, dawned. The 
figure of the old man, in chains, was led from the court- 
house steps to the gallows. As he passed the crowd, he 
stooped to kiss a little child in its mother ^s arms. 

^'Have you any last word that you wish to sayT^ 
asked the executioner. 

The old man straightened ; his white face was tense 
with emotion. 

^^God sees,'* he exclaimed fervently, ^'that I am of 
more use to hang than for any other purpose !'' 

Thus it was that John Brown, the "fanatic,'' who 
was the first man to give his life to the doctrine of 
abolition, but as he himself foretold, in the same spirit 
that Eidley showed in a similar martyrdom, though his 
body perished, his soul went marching on. 



'John Brown, of Ossawatomie, they led him out to die; 

And lo! a poor slave-mother with her little child pressed nigh. 

Then the bold blue eye grew tender, and the harsh old face grew 

mild, 
As he stooped between the jeerins ranks and kissed the negro's 

child! 

'The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart; 

And they who blamed the bloody hand, forgave the loving heart. 

Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good! 
Long live the generous purpose, unstained with human blood! 
Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies; 
Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice. 



■312— 




THE TALE OF THE TENNESSEE GIRL 
WHO GUIDED A CAVALRY 



This is the tale of a Southern girl 
who found an opportunity to help the cause for 
which her brother was fighting and led a cavalry to the 
capture of an army. It is a tale of the chivalry of the wonnen in 
the North and South throughout the great struggle of Annerican manhood. 

IT WAS in 1863. There was war in tlie land. The 
soldiers of the gray were on their famous raid 
from Tennessee to Georgia, in pursuit of the 
soldiers of the blue, when to their dismay the 
fleeing Union forces burned a bridge after they had 
passed over it in safety, and left their pursuers on the 
opposite side of a deep creek. The country was wild 
and rugged. The pursuing general searched the banks 
for a place to cross, but the stream was too turbulent 
and deep to allow them to pass on horseback. A short 
distance away was a little farm-house. As he ap- 
proached this humble dwelling, he saluted a young girl 
who was standing on the porch. 

^'Is there any place above or below the destroyed 
bridge where we can ford or pass over the creek,*' he 
asked. 

The southern girl, with flashing eyes and cheeks 
aglow, excitedly gave her directions, emphasizing her 
words with gestures. Her old mother, in the half-open 
doorway, stood peering out in wonderment at their 
strange visitors. The general sat with his leg thrown 



HERO TALES 



over the saddle-pommel, while his faithful followers, 
weary and weather-worn, were gathered in groups 
along the roadside. Every moment was precious to the 
confederate general, and after further inquiry, wishing 
not to lose a second, he asked the maiden if she would 
not ride with him and show the way to the ford. 

Eager to be of service to her country, she turned to 
her mother, who was at first loath to give her consent. 

^'Mother,'' pleaded the girl. ''I am not afraid to 
trust myself with so brave a man as General Forrest. ' ^ 

^'But, my dear, folks will talk about you,'' said the 
modest woman, with all the prudence becoming a 
mother. 

^'Let them talk, I must go,'' cried the heroic girl, 
as she ran down the steps and jumped upon the roots of 
a fallen tree that stood nearby. 

General Forrest brought his charger to her side, 
and she grasped the gallant chieftain around the waist 
as she sprang up to the saddle behind him. She waved 
a farewell to her anxious mother and instantly they 
were on their way through the dense woods. The ride 
was exceedingly difficult, but the maiden kept her seat 
quite as well as her experienced companion. The cruel 
undergrowth caught her clothing and lashed her cheeks, 
but the fair guide did not heed these trifles as she fear- 
lessly led the cavalry forward. Soon they came in 
sight of the ford, but General Forrest's quick eye 
espied the Federal sharpshooters on the high precipice 
opposite. A bullet whistled by their heads. 

^^What was that. General Forrest?" inquired the 
girl. 

*^A bullet. Are you afraid?" replied the Confeder- 
ate commander. 

^^No," she answered firmly. 

Still, on they pressed, as long as they could force a 
—314— 



THE TENNESSEE GIRL 



road through the tangled brambles and towering 
shrubs. At last, they were obliged to dismount and 
make their way on foot. The general hitched his horse 
to a tree and followed his fair guide. 

**Let me go first, for they would not fire upon me, 
and they might fire if you went,'^ she urged. 

* ^ No, " exclaimed the general emphatically. ^ ' I can- 
not use a brave girl for my protection.'' 

"With the general in the lead, they advanced through 
the almost impenetrable underbrush to the ford. 
Around them were falling in rapid succession the bul- 
lets of the enemy, concealed overhead on the cliffs. 
Having reached the crossing in safety, they returned to 
the spot where they had left the soldiers, who im- 
mediately went to work with their tools and soon had 
cut a path to the ford wide enough to admit of their 
passage. When general Forrest had sent his company 
safely to the other side of the creek, he returned to the 
girl. 

**Is there anything that I can do for you in return 
for your invaluable services T ' he inquired. 

^^The Yankees, on ahead, have taken my brother 
prisoner, and if you will only release him, I shall be 
more than repaid, ' ' replied the fair young guide. 

The gallant general reached for his watch, and, 
after gazing at it for a moment, he said : " It is now just 
five minutes to eleven. To-morrow at five minutes to 
eleven o'clock your brother shall be returned to you." 

The girl made her way swiftly to her home. The 
Confederate cavalry proceeded on their raid. The 
following morning at ten o 'clock, which was the eighth 
day of May, in the year 1863, General Forrest overtook 
the Union forces under General Str eight, in the vicinity 
of Eome, Georgia. The Confederate cavalcade was so 
far out-numbered by its Federal prisoners that it was 

—315— 



HERO TALES 



obliged to call all the citizens that could be mustered to 
form a sufficient guard for them. 

As General Forrest passed along the lines of pris- 
oners, he exclaimed: ^'Is there a young man named 
Sansom in the ranks ! ' * 

^ ^ I am here, ' ' answered a voice. 

^^My lad," exclaimed the general, ^*you are wanted 
at home. You have just fifty-five minutes to get 
there. Take the fastest horse in the command and do 
not rest a moment until you have reached your sister. ' ' 

When the lost brother entered his home, the heart of 
his sister, Emma Sansom, was filled with delight. 

^^I knew,'' she said, ^'tliat General Forrest would 
do it. I knew he would do it.'' 

In token of the heroism of this Southern girl, and 
her service to her army, the legislature of Tennessee 
granted her a valuable plot of land. 



"Roll a river wide and strong, 

Like the tides a-swinging, 
Lift the joyful floods of song, 

Set the mountains ringing. 
Run the lovely banner high,— 

Crimson morning glory! 
Field as blue as yonder sky, 

Every star a story. 

"By the colors of the day, 

By the breasts that wear them, 
To the living God we pray 

For the brave that bear them! 
Run the rippling banner high; 

Peace or war the weather, 
Cheers or tears, we'll live or die 

Under it together." 



-316— 



THE TALE OF THE SUBMARINE ON THE 
BOTTOM OF THE SEA 



This is the tale of the submarine 
that held the lives of its gallant crew imprisoned 
on the bed of the ocean. It is a tale of the heroism of 
modern invention in which a young ensign is shot into the seas to 
solve the problem of escape from the sepulchre that holds his comrades. 

IT WAS a bright July day in 1909. The little 
submarine boat, Porpoise^ was lying at a dock in 
Manila Bay, in the Philippine Islands. The 
United States Government had sent the sub- 
marine to this distant port in the Far East in order to 
guard the city, and to expose the boat to the severest 
tests. 

The submarine is the outgrowth of the torpedo boat. 
Its swelling sides of steel are shaped like a huge cigar. 
There is a narrow platform on the top of the boat, a 
small flagstaff, and a slender life-line enclosing the 
slippery platform. A little forward of the center rises 
the conning tower, with its eyes of glass, and a reed- 
like periscope. 

This denizen of the deep has become a terror to the 
modern battleships. Its ability to sink beneath the sur- 
face of the ocean, creeping upon the battleship, dis- 
charging its deadly torpedo, and then darting back, like 
a flash, out of the danger of the terrific explosion that 
follows, has made it the modern terror of the navies of 
the world. 

—317— 



HERO TALES 



A terrible menace to foes, it is equally a menace to 
the daring crews that man it, and that go to the bottom 
of the seas in the performance of their duty. Many of 
these weird demons of the deep have slipped to the 
ocean-bed, where, the delicate mechanism being injured, 
the crew have been imprisoned until merciful death has 
released them from the agonies of suffocation. The 
dread of this fate is always in the minds of the brave 
crews as they go about their work. 

It was in the mind of the commander of the Porpoise, 
as she slipped her hawser, on that summer day in July, 
and started on a leisurely run through the bay. The 
other sea-going craft in the harbor near Cavite saw the 
submarine stop, and, for several minutes, lie still in the 
water — a rakish-looking craft, indeed, protruding but 
a few feet above the surface of the bay, the United 
States flag fluttering from its miniature flagstaff. Then 
the sea-monster began to sink. Down, down she went 
until her top was awash. Now the flag is the only part 
in sight. Gradually the water creeps up and submerges 
the flag, until all is out of sight. 

The little Porpoise settled beneath the waves until 
she was resting on the bottom of the bay, seventy feet 
from the surface, hemmed in by tons upon tons of green 
sea-water. If now, for any reason, the intricate ma- 
chinery should become impaired, the fate of the brave 
sailors would be sealed. The only object that could 
now leave the vessel safely was the torpedo, to be dis- 
charged through the tubes in the bow. 

Standing in the midst of his men, was the com- 
mander of the submarine, stripped to his underclothes, 
anxiously studying the mechanism of the forward 
torpedo-gun that was open from the inside. At the 
wheel, controlling the mechanism of the gun, stood a 
sailor, ready for commands. 

—318— 



THE SUBMARINE 



It was a weird spectacle — this tragedy beneath the 
sea — as the youthful ensign jammed his broad shoulders 
into the eighteen-inch tube and pulled himself with 
great difficulty into position, clutching the steel cross- 
bar on the outer cap of the torpedo-tube with an iron 
grip. The inner door slowly closed, and the young 
ensign was held a voluntary prisoner in the narrow 
death-channel. 

''When I say ready," he commanded, as the door 
was closing, ''let her go." 

At the command, the mechanism was to set in motion 
the powerful machinery that would force open the cap, 
against the terrific pressure of water. The imprisoned 
ensign, if his grip was strong enough, would be jerked 
out of the tube and thrown into the sea. It was to be a 
battle between the strength of man and the inrush of the 
ocean. If his grip failed, the tremendous pressure of 
the waters rushing into the tube, would overwhelm him, 
shattering his eardrums and distorting his features. 
Moreover, the suction would send the water into his 
lungs, causing death by strangulation. 

This is what the gallant ensign was willing to risk, 
in the hope that he could prove to the world that their 
crews could escape from submerged submarines, in case 
of necessity. Like a minnow in a shark's mouth, the 
youth lay, ready to shoot into the sea— a human torpedo. 

The signal was given. There was a fearful wrench 
on his arms. The opening cap jerked him forward. 
He was clear of the tube. A great inrush of water 
surged into the opening. 

With vigorous strokes, the daring ensign shot 
through the fathoms of sea-water. Seventy-five 
seconds passed. Suddenly, on the surface of the bay 
appeared the figure of a man. Eolling over on his back, 
he lay gasping for breath and floating on the water. It 

—319— 



HERO TALES 



was the young ensign, ana when his fellow-officers 
reached him in a boat, he was splashing about in the 
warm water, thoroughly enjoying a good swim. 

This young hero had demonstrated to the world that 
the crew of a sunken submarine boat need no longer 
stay imprisoned to be strangled by suffocation. The 
problem of escape had been solved. All but one man, 
the one operating the machinery, can now be shot 
through the torpedo-tube to the surface in safety. The 
question of who is to be the ^4ast man'' is not hard to 
solve. The captain of a sinking ship is always the last 
to leave, and in the case of a submarine, just such a 
commander as the one who solved the problem for the 
sake of humanity is the one who would never be rescued, 
but remain, doomed to an awful death. 

The daring exploit of Ensign Kenneth Whiting 
thrilled the world, and the tale of the brave act was pro- 
claimed to the sailors on every United States warship, 
as an example of heroic devotion to duty. 



'She's a floating boiler, crammed with fire and steam, j 

A dainty toy, with works just lil^e a watch; 
A weaving, worliing baslvetful of triclvs, — 
A pent volcano, and stoppered at top-notch. 
She is Death and swift Destruction in a case 

(Not the Unseen, but the Awful,— plain in sight). 
The Dread that must be halted when afar; 

She's a concentrated, fragile form of Might! 
Slie's a daring, vicious thing, 
With a rending, deadly sting,— 

And ghe aslis no odds nor quarter in the fight!" 



—320— 




THE TALE OF THE SEA FIGHTER WHO 
CHALLENGED THE WORLD 



This Is the tale of a sea fighter 
who warned the navies of the world that while the 
young Annerica might not have fighting ships she had fight- 
ing men who would test their courage with any foe that dared to 
attack the honor of the flag of the free and the home of the brave. 

IN THE year of 1812, on the eighteenth day of June, 
the new American republic declared war for a 
second time against Great Britain. Old Eng- 
land had for many years been desperately with- 
standing the advance of the great Emperor Napoleon, 
in whose heart there burned the ambition to be the first 
ruler of the world. The Old- World powers in their 
envy had tried to prevent all foreign nations from 
trading with France. This injured the commerce of 
the struggling United States, whose government had 
reason for hostile feeling against both powers, but 
especially against Great Britain, whose extensive navy 
was molesting American merchant-ships. 

The United States was seeking the freedom of the 
seas, but did not possess a navy strong enough to gain 
it. Outrages on American ships were frequent. 
American sailors were forcibly taken from their cap- 
tains and impressed into service on British war-vessels. 
Public sentiment in the United States was aroused to 
indignation. Great Britain defended its conduct with 
the claim that it had a right to search foreign ships for 

—321— 



HERO TALES 



deserters. There were but twenty-two ships on the 
ocean flying the American flag, and fifteen of these were 
too small to be of any service in war. American inde- 
pendence, however, would dare all the powers of the 
earth, before it would tamely endure insult and injury. 

*'We will never submit until the last ship is sunk,'' 
was the slogan that inspired the American populace. 
^ ^ We have upheld our honor on land with our army, and 
we can do it now with our navy. ' ' 

It was on the second day of August, in 1812, just a 
little more than six weeks after war had been declared, 
that a strong man in the uniform of an American naval 
officer was pacing the deck of a warship in Boston har- 
bor. There was a look of stern resolve in his face, 
which was firm and clear-cut, but at times the sternness 
would give way to an expression of doubt and anxiety, 
as if he were struggling toward some great decision in 
his mind. 

Since he was fourteen years of age he had been a 
sailor, and had experienced many adventures in the 
West Indies and on the Mediterranean. On the ship, 
the deck of which he was now pacing, he had just won 
a day's race against an English war-vessel, and only 
about two weeks before, he had been unexpectedly 
overtaken by four British fighting frigates near Sandy 
Hook, which had pursued him for three days and three 
nights. 

' 'It is not that I am afraid to fight, ' ' he said, * 'but it 
is fear that I may not be given an opportunity. ' ' 

As the gallant young captain strode the deck of his 
frigate, he kept a watchful eye toward the land, waiting 
anxiously for the orders from his superior officer to 
allow him to risk his ship against the British navy. 
The orders from Washington had been slow. The 
government feared the superior numbers of the King's 

—322—. 



THE SEA FIGHTER 



fleet, and warned its captains to lie close to the shore on 
the defensive, without inviting danger or combat. The 
fighting spirit of this young captain burned within him. 
He longed to match his prowess with a greater fighting 
force. 

**I will fight without orders,'' he resolved, after 
waiting impatiently for many days, although he knew 
that in event of defeat, if he escaped with his life, he 
would be shot by command of his own government. 

At daylight on that August morning, the frigate 
Cofistitution stole out of Boston harbor, and sailed 
northeast to the Bay of Fundy, skirting the coast of 
Nova Scotia. It was seventeen days later, on Wednes- 
day afternoon, the nineteenth of the month, that it 
passed along the banks of Newfoundland. 

* ^ Clear the decks for action, ' ' ordered the stern cap- 
tain, and with his fifty-five guns loaded for combat, and 
the American flag flying at the mast-head, the daring 
little American frigate caught the wind and sailed up 
the bay. 

The doughty British Guerriere, always ready for 
fight, accepted the challenge, and opened its guns on the 
impudent intruder, firing broadside after broadside 
into its course. 

The stern captain stood in command, urging his 
crew into the enemy's fire. 

^^Hold your guns," he ordered. *'Not a shot is to 
be wasted." 

The British ship was now spitting flame. A shell 
burst on the deck of the Constitution, Several sailors 
fell wounded and dead on the deck. 

The little American frigate ploughed through the 
waters of the bay, nearer and nearer to the flaming 
cannon of its adversary, until it was within fifty yards 
of the British Guerriere, one of the most daring j^osi- 

—323— 



HERO TALES 



tions evertaken by a naval officer in the annals of sea- 
fighting. 

Boom! Boom! 

The British frigate trembled. 

Broadside after broadside burst upon her, sweeping 
her deck, shattering her hull, and cutting her masts and 
rigging into a thousand pieces. Officers and sailors 
fled in confusion. The mizzen-mast of the British 
frigate fell into the sea. A mighty shout went up from 
the American ship. The British flag that had been 
proudly thrashing in the breeze through fire and smoke, 
disappeared from sight. 

The brave British Guerriere, without mast or 
rudder, tossed helplessly in the trough of the sea. 

* ^ She is sinking, ' ' shouted the sailors on the Amer- 
ican Constitution, 

The stern captain, still standing at his post of duty, 
ordered an officer to take possession of the sinking ship. 
As he came alongside, he asked the commander of the 
British frigate if he had struck his colors. 

AVith a coolness that defied his victor, he replied : 

**I do not know that it would be prudent to continue 
the engagement any longer." 

Seventy-nine of his crew lay wounded and dead at 
his feet. 

^^Do I understand you to say that you have struck 
your colors ? ' ' inquired the American lieutenant. 

*^Not precisely, '* returned the British captain, 
^^But I don't know that it will be worth while to fight 
any longer." 

"If you cannot decide, I will return aboard, and we 
will resume the engagement," replied the American 
officer. 

'^Why, I am pretty much hors de combat already," 
remarked the British captain. "I have hardly men 

—32^ 



THE SEA FIGHTER 



enough left to work a gun, and my ship is in a sinking 
condition. ' ' 

''I wish to know, sir,*' peremptorily demanded the 
American officer, ^'whether I am to consider you as a 
prisoner of war or an enemy. I have not time for 
further parley.'* 

''I believe there is now no alternative,'* replied the 
proud British commander. *^If I could fight longer, I 
would with pleasure. But, — I — must — surrender — 
myself — a prisoner of war/' 

The defiant Briton and his surviving crew were 
taken on board the American Constitution, and the 
torch was applied to his ship. Fourteen men lay 
wounded and dead on the American frigate. 

A few days later, the American Constitution, with 
the Stars and Stripes flying at her mast, sailed proudly 
into Boston harbor with her prisoners of war, and, as 
the news swept the country, there was great rejoicing. 
The American navy might not be strong in fighting 
ships, but it had fighting men who would defy death 
itself. 

**Let England come," cried the crowds in the 
streets. ' ' We can whip the world. ' * 

So little was the Constitution damaged, that she 
afterward engaged in several thrilling sea-fights, and 
in recognition of her valor was called ^^Old Ironsides," 
by the American people. 

Congress conferred upon the stern captain a gold 
medal for his bravery and he became a commodore in 
the United States navy. Many years later, the old sea- 
fighter, at sixty-eight years of age, lay on his death bed. 
His heart burned with the old fire of heroism, and mur- 
muring, *^I strike my flag," he fell into his last long 
sleep, and the nation mourned its passing hero — 
Captain Isaac Hull. 

—325— 



THE TALE OF THE MILL BOY OF THE 
SLASHES WHO BECAME A STATESMAN 



This is the tale of a country boy 
who overcame the rebuffs of his fellows and rose by 
persistence and courage to the Leadership of his people. It is 
a tale of triunnph over poverty and ridicule, in which an honest pur- 
pose and a strong heart thrust aside all obstacles that stood in its path. 

IT WAS on the twelfth day of April in the year of 
1777, the second year of the Eevolutionary War, 
that a boy was born to poor parents down in 
Hanover Connty, in old Virginia. When the lad 
was but four years of age, his father died, leaving his 
family in destitution. But the mother was a courage- 
ous woman, and through this period of poverty she 
strove to give her children a smattering of an education. 
At the age of twelve the boy was forced to seek his own 
support by working in a retail store, selling and deliver- 
ing groceries. Among the customers in the country 
store was a lawyer. 

*'Why don't you make something of yourself in the 
world," he said one day as the lad was drawing 
molasses. ** There is a great chance for boys in this 
country if they are bright and honest and willing to 
work hard. ' ' 

^'But I am poor,'* said the lad, **and I have no 
friends. '^ 

* ' Come into my law-office, ' ' replied the lawyer, * ^ and 
read my law-books during your spare time-. ' ' 

—326— 



THE MILL BOY 



There were several young clerks in the law-office, 
well dressed and with the average city boy's good 
opinion of himself. They ridiculed the farmer boy in 
his suit of Figginy (Virginia) cloth, a mixture of cotton 
and silk, home-made, and laughed at his coat-tails, 
which stood out at a ludicrous angle. The country lad 
said nothing until one day the city clerks interfered 
with his studies. Then the rebuke that fell from the 
lips of the country boy startled them. The sharp 
tongue, backed by a strong intellect, stung the city chaps 
bitterly, and their ridicule was changed into admiration. 

The ''Mill Boy of the Slashes, '^ as he was called, 
had won his first conquest against the world. 

As the months* passed, he mastered the law as he 
had the city clerks, and was soon ready to practice. He 
decided to go West with the tide of emigration, and in a 
little frontier village in Kentucky he nailed up his sign 
on a rough building near the courthouse. 

A debating society was formed in the frontier 
village, but his natural bashfulness did not allow him 
to enter into its discussion, until one night, when the 
question before the meeting had been well thrashed out 
and was about to be decided, he remarked in an under- 
tone to one of his neighbors : ' ' No one has touched the 
real point of the subject yet." 

His remark was overheard, and he was called upon 
to speak. The young man, embarrassed, stumbled to 
his feet. 

*' Gentlemen of the jury," he stammered, but was 
interrupted by a gale of laughter. More embarrassed 
than ever, he started again with the same address, but 
this time he did not halt at the cries. Soon the audience 
was quiet and listening attentively to the liquid flow of 
words from the young lawyer. Warming to his sub- 
ject, he poured out his arguments so lucidly, and at the 

—327— 



HERO TALES 



same time so passionately, that his listeners were 
astonished. 

He was fully aware of his great gift of speech, and, 
as a young man, he practiced continually, sometimes in 
the woods and often in a barn with horses and oxen as 
an audience. His law-practice grew by leaps and 
bounds as his fame as an orator spread, and soon his 
reputation was national. At the age of twenty-five, he 
was elected to the Legislature, and became an ardent 
abolitionist. 

Soon his brilliant speeches carried him to the 
national Congress, where he achieved the most brilliant 
success that has been the fortune of man to attain be- 
fore or since. Through various posts of honor, he was 
finally appointed Secretary of State under President 
Adams, and held this important office for a number of 
years, serving his country with all the brilliancy of his 
great talents. 

One of the most eloquent speeches ever made was 
delivered by this remarkable statesman. The occasion 
was the death of a great fellow-senator, John C. 
Calhoun. The Congressmen had gathered for the 
formal ceremonies. By the side of the great Webster 
sat the orator. In the vast house a throng were gath- 
ered to pay their last respects to the dead Congress- 
man. The scene was impressive, but no one seemed 
willing to rise and speak. Finally, "Webster turned 
and looked at his colleague. Obeying the silent request, 
the ''Mill Boy of the Slashes** slowly arose. His tall, 
graceful figure was the center of all eyes. He began 
very gently, but his voice rose gradually as he pictured 
the earlier scenes of his friendship with the dead states- 
man. And, as he drew a rapid review of his domestic 
relations and his professional triumphs, the life blood 
began to push its way into the dulled memories of the 

—328— 



THE MILL BOY 



men before him; then the orator's eyes began to shine 
and his whole form to sway gently and gracefully, while 
his tones waxed even more pathetic and affecting. 

Never did the listening ears forget the touching ca- 
dence with which he pronounced this closing eulogy: 
^'He was my junior in years — in nothing else.'' 

His eyes rested on the empty chair of the dead 
statesman — a moment of silence intervened — then his 
accumulated weight of feeling gushed forth in one brief 
moving question, as he gestured toward the chair: 
' ' When shall that great vacancy be filled ? ' ' 

The *^Mill Boy of the Slashes" was now America's 
greatest orator. For more than fifty years he served 
his country in positions of trust and honor, thrilling 
the hearts of Americans by his magic words, until 
he became one of the best beloved Americans of his 
generation. 

It was on the twenty-ninth day of June in 1852, that 
his inspiring voice was stilled forever. The whole na- 
tion was grief-stricken. Throughout the country, pub- 
lic memorial services were held in his honor on the day 
of the burial. A fellow-statesman touched the hearts of 
the American people when he exclaimed: *^His ex- 
ample teaches us that one can scarcely be so poor but 
that, if he will, he can acquire sufficient education to 
get through the world respectably" — for such was the 
experience of Henry Clay, the ^'Mill Boy of the 
Slashes," who overcame the world's obstacles and won 
his way to greatness without the pomp of war and in 
the quiet pursuit of peace. 



—329— 




THE TALE OF THE FRONTIERSMAN IN 
THE GREAT SOUTHWEST 



This is the tale of a frontiersman 
who had his choice between the liberty of the forest and 
a home of wealth and comfort— and chose the wilderness, pre- 
ferring the hardships of the frontier to the honor and ease of riches 
and political leadership. It is a tale of a man who founded a new republic. 

IT WAS down in Eockbridge County, in Virginia. 
The year was 1793. The hearts in a home on the 
banks of the James Eiver had just been gladdened 
by the coming of a son. The father was intensely 
patriotic, and years before had answered the call to 
arms in defense of liberty, winning great renown for 
his valor. In 1807, the patriot died and the remainder 
of the family moved to the frontier in Tennessee. At 
that time it was the outpost of civilization, in the center 
of vast forests, and surrounded on all sides by the 
Indians. The boy, now fourteen years of age, mingled 
freely with the friendly red men and soon was on 
familiar terms with them all. As he grew older, he 
acted as clerk of a trading-post, and taught the village 
school. 

The rumble of war reached even to this far distant 
village, and the son of the revolutionary warrior rushed 
to the defense of his country in the struggle with Great 
Britain, in 1812. He entered the army as a private 
under the great General Jackson, and was with the 
famished troops at Horseshoe Bend, when the soldiers, 

^330— 



THE FRONTIERSMAN 



unable to endure the terrible pangs of hunger, mutinied. 
The iron-willed general, with his left arm shattered by 
a shell, held a musket in his right hand and sternly 
ordered them back into the ranks, crying, ^^I will shoot 
the first man who disobeys ! ' * With admiration for 
their brave commander, who, like themselves, was suf- 
fering from hunger, they returned to their duty, de- 
termined to fight as long as they could stand. 

At the close of the war, the young frontiersman 
was promoted from his station as a private soldier to 
the rank of lieutenant. 

^*I have decided not to be a fighter all my life, but 
to be a lawyer,'' he said, as he resigned from the army. 

In the pioneer country his rise was rapid, and at 
thirty-four years of age the eyes of the political world 
were upon him, for, down in Tennessee, he was estab- 
lishing a new system of government and ruling as 
governor. The power of wealth and political honor 
lay at his feet. Then a strange rumor passed through 
the country. 

^'The governor has disappeared. He has aban- 
doned his home and office and has gone into the South- 
west." 

Some days later, in a forest camp of the Cherokee 
Indians, there appeared a young man of strong figure 
and impressive manner. The Indians, struck with his 
valiant bearing and proud of the friendship of a white 
man, adopted him into their tribe. The call of the 
forests was in him and he could not resist it. The 
young governor was now a part of the great Cherokee 
nation. 

One day, while with his tribesmen, he left them to go 
into the forests — and never returned. Months later, in 
the vast territory of Texas, the strange man of the 
wilderness reappeared. With him he brought his won- 

—331— 



HERO TALES 



derfnl capacity for statecraft. His ability as a leader 
won him political eminence. Texas declared her inde- 
pendence of Mexico, and at the head of the little Texan 
army, marching against ancient Mexico, rode the same 
man of the wilderness. 

Through the beautiful rolling prairies of Texas, the 
Mexicans swept, wantonly laying waste to home and 
property. At a little mission church, called the Alamo, 
they trapped a small band of Texans, and, hurling four 
thousand troops at the mission, annihilated the entire 
garrison, with brutality. The hearts of the Texans 
throbbed with anger and resentment at this cruelty and 
the commander of the Texan army resolved to punish 
the Mexicans. 

It was the second day of April, in 1836 ; the Mexi- 
can army advanced on the city of Houston. Just out- 
side of the city is San Jacinto, a great, grassy plain 
stretching out to the southward. Here the Texan army 
of eight hundred sturdy, determined men awaited the 
approaching Mexicans. Across the single bridge, the 
only means of entrance to the field, thundered the 
Mexican army, fifteen hundred strong. With banners 
flying, and bands playing, they crossed to the San 
Jacinto. 

When they were all across, a band of volunteer 
Texans destroyed the bridge, cutting off their escape. 
The small army of enraged Texans now rose in its 
wrath. Led by the frontier commander, they rushed 
upon the Mexicans. * ^ Remember the Alamo ! ^ ' roared 
the Texans, as they sprang to the attack. The cry 
struck fear into the hearts of the guilty Mexicans. 
They cowered at the sight of the thin line of infuriated 
soldiers, but their general, striking to the right and 
left with his sword, forced them to rally and face the 
fire. 

—332— 



THE FRONTIERSMAN 



In the thick of the battle was the brave frontiers- 
man, fighting shoulder to shoulder with his men, like a 
whirlwind ; now here, now there, as the tide of the battle 
swung from one point to another. All through that fierce 
combat he struggled, wounded but still leading his men. 

The Mexicans turned to flee. Their escape was cut 
off, and their general was forced to surrender. The 
closing battle of the war for independence ended. 

The Texans were thrilled with triumph. A new 
republic was established and the first president was the 
man of the frontier, who had ^* avenged the Alamo.'' 
The worshipping Texans called him the ' ' George Wash- 
ington'' of the new republic, and elected him to their 
highest office. When, in 1845, Texas was taken into the 
sisterhood of the United States, their president was 
sent to Washington as Senator, where he served his 
state with great brilliancy and fidelity. Then, when the 
secession of Texas from the American Union, became a 
political question, his violent opposition to this course, 
and his love for the Stars and Stripes, soon made him 
a host of enemies in his own state, and he was recalled 
from Washington to his home in Huntsville, in Texas. 

The old man, battle-scarred in the service of his 
state, lay tossing on his bed, ill unto death. It was on 
the twenty-fifth of July, 1863. The end was approach- 
ing rapidly. Around the bedside were his family and 
loyal friends. The tall, gaunt figure, emaciated by 
disease, stirred. His lips trembled : * ' Texas ! Texas ! ' ' 

General Samuel Houston, the hero of San Jacinto, 
the soldier, the brilliant statesman, the fearless 
frontiersman, who loved the life of the wilds, but who 
loved better the service of his country, was dead. 
Texas mourned him as her foremost patriot, pioneer, 
and citizen, all the more because of the humiliation to 
which she had subjected him in her moment of passion. 

—333— 



THE TALE OF THE GIRL PILOT ON 
THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER 



This is the tale of womanhood 
that triumphed over the courage of men and paid the 
price with life. It is a tale of an unknown girl, who, when a 
ship was in flames and the pilot deserted his post, rushed to the 
wheel and directed its course to the river bank in a furnace of fire. 

IT WAS a bright afternoon in May, in the year of 
1852, when the side-wheeler, Charles Belcher, 
swung from its dock in St. Louis and steamed 
down the Mississippi Eiver for New Orleans. She 
was a gay looking boat, decked out in bunting and flags, 
her white sides and gold-banded smoke stacks gleaming 
in the sunlight. On the deck, pacing up and down, was 
Captain Cutler. This was the first trip of the Charles 
Belcher, and the captain determined to make it a record 
trip, to reduce the time between St. Louis and New 
Orleans by five hours. Every big steamer on the 
Mississippi at that time carried several barrels of rosin 
to be used as fuel in emergencies, such as racing a 
steamer of an opposition line, or fighting the storms 
when a large head of steam was required. 

Down past the wooded banks she flew. In the engine- 
room the firemen were mixing rosin with every shovel- 
ful of coal. The flames roared through the flues. The 
weight on the safety-valve had been moved almost to 
the danger mark and the valves shrieked out their pro- 
tests against such folly, but the passengers had become 

—334— 



THE GIRL PILOT 



excited, for a race was on with the Ben Franklin, which 
had left St. Louis two hours ahead of them, and they 
did not heed the warning. Nearer and nearer they 
pressed to the Ben Franklin, and at dark, rounding a 
bend in the river, they could see the flying boat only 
just ahead of them. The excitement became intense. 
At ten o'clock the Charles Belcher passed her rival, 
and the passengers cheered the new boat and her cap- 
tain for the victory, and prepared for a dance on the 
deck in honor of the occasion. 

Piled high on the deck above the boilers was a pile 
of carriage wheels, with straw wedged in between them 
in order to protect the varnish. Among them a blazing 
spark from the streaming smokestacks lodged, and soon 
the little flames were licking their way over the deck, 
looking for fresh fuel. 

In the cabin, in the midst of gay dancers, Captain 
Cutler was executing a *^buck-and-wing'' movement of 
a quadrille. Suddenly, an alarm rang out, and in the 
doorway appeared the figure of a woman in her night- 
clothes, crying, *^Fire!'' 

At the sound, the women huddled together in terror, 
or ran up and down without reason. Men, crazed with 
fear, wrenched doors from the cabins, and throwing 
them overboard leaped after them, only to be cut in 
pieces by the paddle-wheels, or engulfed in the wake of 
the racing steamer. The engines were working at full 
speed, with the engineer dead at his post. The wheel 
in the pilot house was deserted. Captain Cutler was 
assuring the passengers that they would be saved, and 
endeavoring to restrain the frenzied women from 
throwing themselves overboard. More than three 
hundred persons were on board, and though the boat 
was running wild, with no one at the wheel, not one man 
offered to go through the wall of flame and take charge 

—335— 



HERO TALES 



of the wheel. On the edge orthe panic-stricken crowd 
stood a beautiful, young girl, gazing up at the raging 
fire which was encircling the wheel-house. 

At her side, seated on a bale of cotton, was her 
father, an aged, crippled man. The girl bent over him 
and shouted in his ear. He clutched her hand and bent 
forward. The young girl kissed him, and disappeared. 
A moment later, a blast of wind parted the smoke, and 
then the frightened passengers saw at the wheel a young 
girl standing, dressed in white, and with streaming 
hair. With a sure hand, she directed the course of the 
blazing vessel toward the shore. 

Presently she struck. The shock of the impact was 
terrific. A few men and women leaped to the bank, but 
the ship's stern was in deep water, and the current soon 
swung her around, and the wind blew back the flames 
upon her hapless passengers, many of whom perished, 
among them the girl who had faced death in order to 
save others. Half an hour afterward the Ben Franklin 
came up to the blazing wreck and saved those who had 
leaped ashore. Out of three hundred and twenty 
passengers but seventy-six were saved. 

The mystery surrounding the identity of the heroic 
girl, who sacrificed her life, and left her feeble, old 
father, never to return, for the sake of her fellow- 
men and women, was never cleared, though her act of 
heroism will go down forever in the history of the 
Mississippi Eiver. 



"When all our hopes are gone 
'Tis well our hands must still keep tolling on 

For other's sake. 
For strength to bear is found in duty done, 

And he is blest indeed who learns to make 
The joy of others cure his own heart-ache." 

—336— 




THE TALE OF THE BAYONET BRIGADE 
THAT CHARGED A FORT IN THE NIGHT 



This is tlie tale of a bayonet brigade 
who plunged through the darkness up to their enemy's 
stronghold and won a great victory. It is the tale of a wounded 
warrior who wanted to die at the head of his troops and ordered 
his nnen to carry hinn on their shoulders in the front of the columns. 

IT WAS the fifteenth day of July in 1779, while the 
Americans and English were struggling for 
supremacy. The American troops were stationed 
in front of Stony Point, among the hills of New 
York. The fort at the top of the point was occupied by 
the English soldiers, and was strongly fortified. The 
frowning guns flashed their reflections in the bright 
light of the sun. 

As night came on, the Americans at the base of the 
long, tortuous path quietly prepared for the assault on 
the almost impregnable stronghold. A negro, who had 
been selling strawberries to the English officers, had 
obtained their countersign and given it to the American 
commander. Up the hill the Ainericans were clamber- 
ing, quietly, not making a sound to warn the unsus- 
pecting soldiers above. 

The negro, in the lead, suddenly came upon a British 
sentinel, and, giving the countersign, engaged the 
Englishman in conversation and was laughing and 
chatting, when, out of the darkness, arms clasped the 
soldier, and he was bound and gagged. 

—337— 



HERO TALES 



A rugged man of strong features stood in command 
of the Americans, and formed his men in two divisions 
for the final struggle. With unloaded guns, and bay- 
onets fixed, the soldiers silently labored up the steep 
and narrow path. 

A flash of light came out of the darkness. An Eng- 
lish picket had discovered them, and gave the warning. 
With a fierce cry, the rugged American led his men in 
the charge up the steep hill. 

A sheet of flame flashed from the fort above. There 
was a piercing cry. The brave commander fell to the 
ground. 

** Carry me on your shoulders,'' he ordered his 
aides, *^that I may die at the head of the column!'' 

In the face of a withering fire, the brave Americans 
struggled up the hill. Men were dropping on all sides, 
but still the survivors kept on in their desperate assault. 
The cannon of the British swept the sides of the hill, 
with their fearful discharges of grape and shell. 

The clash of bayonets mingled with the shouts of 
men. The brave Americans reached the top of the long, 
steep hill, and, cheered on by their wounded commander, 
they rushed at the fort. Their onslaught was irre- 
sistible. A deafening shout told the wounded general 
that the fort was won. The entire garrison of British 
soldiers were prisoners, and, despite the fearful fire of 
the defenders of the fort, the American loss was but 
fifteen killed and eighty-three wounded. 

The rugged commander, though severely wounded, 
recovered and served his country throughout the strug- 
gle for liberty. His brilliant exploits placed him in 
an enviable position in history, as one of the bravest 
patriots who offered his services and life in the fight for 
independence — the rugged Anthony Wayne, whose 
reckless daring gave him the name of ^^Mad Anthony." 

—338— 



THE TALE OF THE POOR INVENTOR 
WHO MADE THE WORLD RICH 



This is the tale of a poor Inventor 
who was spurned by his generation and called an inn- 
ppactical dreanner, but who laid the foundation upon which the 
nations of the earth were brought together in a great brotherhood 
of trade and then died in poverty, to be buried in an unmarked grave. 

IT WAS in the days when the great oceans which 
cover more than three-fifths of the earth ^s surface 
were little known, except by the few adventurous 
men who cast away from the shores on sailing- 
vessels at the mercy of the tide and the winds. The 
continents were many months apart and the journey 
was made hazardous by the tempest at sea. 

It was during the time when the new American race 
was beginning to pursue the arts of peace with the same 
indomitable energy that had conquered in its wars. A 
man, straight as an arrow, six feet and two inches tall, 
thin and ungainly, with jet black hair, eyes dark and 
peculiarly piercing, and a temper quick and stubborn, — 
passed through the streets of New York. 

*'Do you see that manT^ exclaimed a prominent 
financier of the day. **He is a crank. He has a fool 
idea in his head that the sails and oars can be taken out 
of boats and that he can make them run with a steam- 
kettle." His hearers laughed and scoffed. 

* * The man is crazy, ' ' was the response. ' ' He ought 
to be locked up, or he4l be doing himself harm.'' 

—339— 



HERO TALES 



A few months later, in 1775, a strange craft, puffing 
smoke from a tall stack, weirdly scooted over the 
waters of a small stream in Pennsylvania ; and, shortly 
after, this strange man stood before the legislature of 
that state applying for a loan of 150 pounds. 

^^"With this money,'' he said, ^^I am of the opinion 
that a vessel can be built that can be propelled by the 
power of escaping steam, six or eight miles per hour, 
which would make the Mississippi as navigable as tide- 
water and the vast territory on those waters a source 
of untold wealth to the United States. Should I sug- 
gest that the navigation between this country and Eu- 
rope may be made so easy as to shortly make us the 
most populous empire on the earth, it probably at this 
time would make you laugh, but I believe it to be true. 

The wiseacres of the legislature laughed aloud and 
jibed him with sharp retorts. 

Not long after, on the twenty-second day of August, 
1787, a crowd of men, women and children gathered on 
the banks of the Delaware Eiver. Among them were 
all the members of the convention for framing the 
Federal Constitution, except General Washington. 

The same tall, gaunt figure stood in a peculiar craft 
floating in the river, from which puffed clouds of smoke. 
There was a whiff of steam. The crude paddle-wheels 
began to move and the odd, multi-legged boat began 
walking on the water. The crowd on the shore were 
astounded. 

^^It never can be made practical,'' said a statesman. 

^*A man is foolhardy to risk his life in such a con- 
trivance," said another. 

* ' The propelling of a boat by steam is as new as the 
rowing of a boat by angels," exclaimed the eccentric 
inventor, when asked where he got such a weird idea, 
* ' and I can claim the first thought and invention of it. 

—340-^ 



THE POOR INVENTOR 



Although the world and my country do not thank me 
for it, yet it gives me heartfelt satisfaction. This, sir, 
wiU be the ultimate mode of crossing the Atlantic, 
whether I bring it to perfection or not, for packets and 
armed vessels.'^ 

As the gaunt figure appeared on the streets, he met 
the jeers and taunts of the crowd. 

^' Never mind, boys,'^ he shouted, ^'The day will 
come when all our great lakes, rivers and oceans, will 
be navigated by vessels propelled by steam.'' 

It was in the year 1796. A crowd gathered about the 
waters, then known as ^^ Collect Pond,'' where the 
Tombs prison now stands in the city of New York. 
This same tall, slim figure, stood in the stern of a 
strange craft that ran around the water, puffing and 
fuming. The throng laughed and hooted. Business 
men shook their heads and turned away. 

^ ' It is wonderful, ' ' they said, ' ' but it cannot be made 
practical. ' ' 

The disappointed inventor came to the shore, and, 
as he passed down the street, jeers and taunts followed 
him. Months later found the strange craft still lying 
in the mud on the bank of the pond, left to decay, and 
piece by piece it was carried away by the children. 

A few months later found the gaunt man down in 
Kentucky, where years before he had his first dreams 
of revolutionizing the world by the power of steam. He 
walked into the blacksmith shop where some of his 
first models were hammered out. The villagers taunted 
him about his strange notions. 

^^Well, gentlemen," he said," although I may not 
live to see the time when steam will propel the vast 
majority of our ships, you will." 

As he went out of the shop, one of the villagers 
shook his head. 

—341— 



HERO TALES 



'*Poor fellow," he said, ^^What a pity that he is 
crazy ! ' ^ 

^'All I ask in this world now is a place to lay my 
head," said the wan and wearied man as he entered 
the tavern. ^'The only thing that I own on earth is a 
tract of land. I'll give you half of it if you will give 
me enough to eat as long as I live. ' * 

Years before, in early youth, he had been married, 
but in the wild pursuit of his ambitious schemes, he 
had become separated from his family. A messenger 
came from his wife in Connecticut, telling him that her 
father had died and left her his money, and urging him 
to return. 

*'I promise to maintain you like a gentleman for 
life," she wrote. In his pride he stoutly refused. 

^^I am contented," he said. *'The day will come 
when some powerful man will get fame and riches from 
my invention. ' * 

A messenger came to him from the Kin^ of Spain. 

*'I will give you riches for your invention," he said, 
*^for the sole and exclusive use of my master, the King 
of Spain." 

^'No," replied the inventor, firmly. ^'If there is 
any glory or profit in my invention, my countrymen 
shall have the whole of it. ' ' 

One day, late in June, in 1798, the strange, gaunt 
man was found dead in the little village of Bardstown, 
in Kentucky. The tavern-keeper, alone, carried the 
body to the meadows, where it was laid under the sod, 
in an unmarked grave. 

It was about nine years later that the world was 
startled by the news that a boat propelled by steam had 
successfully passed up the Hudson Eiver, and that the 
science of steam navigation had been solved, a miracle 
beyond the power of human mind to comprehend. The 

—342— 



THE POOR INVENTOR 



tall, gaunt man was vindicated — poor John Fitch. The 
weird, elastic power of mere vapor had moved the world 
along at a pace a thousand fold more rapid than before 
its discovery. It took a second genius, the great Eobert 
Fulton, to make it practical and permanent, and 
through him the ^' crazy notion" of John Fitch has 
become one of the greatest powers of the earth, by 
which the nations of the world are to-day exchanging 
their produce and merchandise at the rate of seventy 
million dollars a day. 

This, then, is the tale of the ^^unpractical" man who 
had the courage to face the rebuffs of his ^'practical" 
contemporaries, and who closed his life in discourage- 
ment and tragedy, knowing that the world would be- 
come the everlasting heir to his genius. 



'Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 
The queen of tlie world, and the child of the skies; 
Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold. 
While ages on ages thy splendor unfold! 
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time. 
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime; 
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name, 
Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame. 

'Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, 
The nations admire and the ocean obey; 
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold. 
And the east and the south yield their spices and gold. 
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow. 
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow; 
While the ensign's union, in triumph unfurled, 
Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the world." 



—343— 




THE TALE OF THE TRAPPER IN THE 
WILDS OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 



This is tiie tale of a trapper 
wlio led the precursors of civilization through the forests 
and fought back savagery to blaze the path for the march of 
American progress. It is a tale of the rover of the wilderness and 
hunter of beasts who gave to his country the best there was in him. 

IT WAS in the year of 1809, the birth-year of so 
many of our famous men, that the boy in this tale 
was born, down in Kentucky. One year later the 
parents carried the infant to far-off Missouri, 
then but a dense forest. The father of the family was 
a skilled trapper and hunter, and the boy early learned 
the ways of the wild animals of the forests and the 
equally wild Indians. Tales of his adventures in his 
early youth have come down the ages and now, more 
than a hundred years later, they are as fresh in the 
minds of youth as they were then. 

At seventeen years of age, this lad joined a party 
of traders, and passing through many perils, journeyed 
over the routes bordered with hostile Indians, to old 
Santa Fe, in New Mexico, the most ancient city in the 
United States. The young trapper here learned the 
Spanish language. 

In the following Spring, he engaged himself as a 
teamster to a company of traders bound for El Paso, in 
Texas ; and later joined a band of trappers who had just 
arrived from the interior, where they had been driven 

—344— 



THE TRAPPER 



away from their hunting-grounds by Indians. They 
determined to organize a larger company, and return, 
to the country from which they had been expelled, with 
the double purpose of chastising the Indians and to 
trap the beaver. This nineteen-year old lad was chosen 
as their leader. 

The scenes through which he passed, no boy of to-day 
can ever witness. His personal bravery and ability as 
a leader soon placed him in command of a hunting ex- 
pedition ; and, beset with peril from Indians and wild 
animals, he led his band of rugged hunters through 
the wilds of the western forests. 

It was while acting as a hunter for the soldiers at 
Bent's Fort that he married. Then a daughter came 
to brighten the solitude of his life. 

One day word came to his wife that he was lying ill 
in a settlement a hundred miles away in the Indian's 
country. Her great love for her husband impelled her 
to mount a horse and go to his side to nurse him back 
to strength, but the hardships of the journey proved 
too much for her delicate strength and she sickened and 
died. 

The trapper was heart-broken. He resolved that 
his daughter should have a good education and culture, 
and when the girl was but five years old, he took her 
to Saint Louis. His fame as an Indian fighter and 
hunter had long before reached the trading-posts, and 
here he found himself the center of an admiring group, 
but the call of the wild was stronger than the lure of 
civilization, and he carried his burdened heart back into 
the solitudes of the wild country. 

His trip to Saint Louis had been the turning-point 
in his life. He had met and become a warm friend of 
Lieutenant John C. Fremont, a United States army 
officer, who had been sent into the West to explore and 

—345-' 



HERO TALES 



map the wild country. Fremont bad requested the 
hunter to guide his expedition, and this he did, in May, 
1842. The little band of men, surmounting all manner 
of obstacles, marching through the hostile Indian 
country, toiling through pathless forests, and scaling 
high precipices, finally reached the Kocky Mountains. 
During the journey, the guide's popularity had been 
undermined by his jealous fellow- trappers, and Fre- 
mont left him behind when he mounted the highest 
peak in that fearful range of mountains. 

The trapper returned to New Mexico, built himself 
a house and settled down. Fremont returned to Saint 
Louis, to receive great honors from the Government. 
But in the heart of the guide there was no malice. When 
he heard that Fremont was to set out again through a 
more dangerous country, the trapper hurried through 
desert and prairie to meet his old commander. Fre- 
mont joyfully received him, and, though the trapper 
had not expected to join the expedition, he gladly con- 
sented to guide the party. 

At the outbreak of the Mexican war, he fought in 
the ranks, and not one of all the army surpassed him 
in bravery. The Government, recognizing his ability, 
called him to Washington, and appointed him as Indian 
Agent in that great Southwestern country that he knew 
so well. The people of the national capital lionized 
him, and his modesty forced him to flee to his new post 
in New Mexico, where he performed many important 
services to the United States in conciliating and sub- 
duing savage Indians. 

When the **call to arms" resounded through the 
country in 1861, among the first to answer was the 
trapper of the Southwest. Short of stature, slender of 
limb, with a fair, clear-cut face, and a mild and quiet 
expression, — he was always on the firing-line in the 

—346—. 



THE TRAPPER 



moment of danger. His gallant behavior earned Mm 
promotion. He rose rank by rank, nntil, at the close 
of the war, the trapper of the wilderness, in whose 
heart there was no enmity, had become a brigadier- 
general — and the name of Christopher Carson, better 
known as ^*Kif Carson, will always remain in the 
tales of the American frontier as one of the most in- 
trepid pioneers that ever stood on the outposts of 
civilization in those days when hardship and suffering 
were carrying the American flag into the Southwest. 



"Hats off! 
Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
A flash of color beneath the sky. 
Hats off! 
The flag is passing by! 

"Sea fights and land fights, grim and great, 
Fought to make and to save the state; 
Weary marches and sinking ships; 
Cheers of victory on dying lips; 

"Days of plenty, and years of peace, 
March of a strong land's swift increase; 
Equal justice, right, and law, 
Stately honor and reverend awe; 

"Sign of a Nation, great and strong. 
To ward her people from foreign wrong; 
Pride, and glory, and honor, all 
Live in the colors to stand or fall. 

"Hats off! 
Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; 
And loyal hearts are beating high. 
Hats off! 
The flag is passing by!" 



—347- 




THE TALE OF A THOUSAND HORSEMEN 
THAT ENCIRCLED A SLEEPING ARMY 



in the Virginia Valley; the tale of more than a thousand 
cavalrymen, who, in their grit and determination, rode completely 
around the great army of the foe while it slept on its arms, in more 
than forty-eight hours of the most gallant daring and horsemanship. 

IT WAS the twelfth day of June, in 1862. The two 
armies, the Federal and the Confederate, were 
resting before Eichmond, after the battle of 
^'Fair Oaks,'' like two bull-dogs, too tired and 
exhausted to longer fight, but with energy enough left 
for an occasional growl. The Union general had 
pushed the Confederates across the Chickahominy 
Eiver, and was resting his army, after their fearful 
struggles, in order to again engage the foe. 

In the Confederate camp was a daring cavalryman. 
His spirited war-horse pranced along the line of resting 
troopers. The men of the South are '^born to the 
saddle," and finer horsemen never mounted a charger. 
It was a beautiful summer afternoon. The clarion 
trill of a bugle sounded on the drowsy air. 

** Boots and Saddles!" exclaimed a tired cavalry- 
man, as he jumped to the side of his horse. 

The restless horses, champing their bits, pawed at 
the ground. Again the shrill call rang out, and the 
beating hoofs of the cavalry horses echoed along the 
river bank. 

—348— 



A THOUSAND HORSEMEN 



** Goodbye, boys ; we are going to help ^Old Jack' to 
drive the Yanks into the Potomac," was tauntingly 
called back to the men left behind, as the clatter of the 
departing cavalry died away. 

Through the cool of the evening, the twelve hundred 
horsemen rode, merrily joking together over their 
dangerous mission, but when the final halt was called, 
all were silent, while they bivouacked for the night. 
They were now close to the lines of the thousands of 
Union soldiers. No camp-fires burned among them, for 
their very lives depended upon secrecy and speed. 

Early in the dawn of the next day, the men were 
mounted and off, without a single blast of the trumpet. 
Two hours' ride distant, a large body of Federal sol- 
diers were stationed at Hanover Court House. The 
daring cavalrymen rode by them, unheeded, though 
they were almost within their sight, and were soon on 
the road to Hawes' Shop. Cautiously they moved 
along. A Union picket, taken by surprise, was caught 
without firing a shot. 

^'The Yankees!" cried a cavalryman. 

The advance guard of the Confederates were sud- 
denly set upon by a squadron of Federal cavalry and 
driven back upon the main body. The commander 
ordered his men forward to attack. Cautiously ad- 
vancing, they reached a bend in the road and could see 
the Union soldiers, two hundred yards away. 

With a wild yell, the Confederates dashed around 
the bend and were upon the Union men like a whirl- 
wind. So sudden was the attack and so great was the 
number of men, that the Union soldiers broke and fled. 
For a mile and a half the Confederates chased the panic- 
stricken soldiers and captured a few prisoners. 

The rapidly moving body of horsemen were repeat- 
edly attacked by small parties of Federal soldiers dur- 

—349— 



HERO TALES 



ing the day. In one instance, the father-in-law of the 
cavalry commander gave them a fierce struggle, and he 
sent a note to the Union officer praising him for his 
gallant attack. There were numerous instances in the 
war between the North and South, of a brother who 
fought his brother; and several cases of fathers who 
fought their sons, in the support of their beliefs and 
principles; but after peace had been restored, these 
men had but added respect for each other. 

The daring Confederate cavalry leader and his men 
were now miles in the rear of the Union army, which lay 
directly between them and their comrades in Richmond. 
Down the road leading to White House Station, the 
cavalry galloped. In the distance could be seen the 
little ramshackle building, surrounded by a guard of 
Federals. With a fearful yell, the Confederates 
charged and soon had the railroad station in their pos- 
session. Hastily the soldiers set about felling trees 
onto the tracks. 

The toot of an engine was heard in the distance. 
The commander hurriedly sent a body of soldiers along 
the banks running parallel with the track, and waited 
the coming of the train which was loaded with Union 
soldiers. The heroic engineer, seeing the trees on the 
tracks, and the uniforms of the Confederate cavalry- 
men, put on full speed and dashed down upon the logs. 
With a tremendous crash, the engine struck them, 
hurled them right and left, and passed on without 
accident. 

Down the track, the train roared toward the waiting 
cavalrymen. A crackling, smashing volley was poured 
into the flying train as it passed, and though it had not 
been stopped, it carried many dead and severely injured 
soldiers. 

The second night had now arrived. The weary and 
—350— 



A THOUSAND HORSEMEN 



hungry cavalrymen dashed on. Their raid had been 
marked by such fierce fighting and riding that the men 
and horses had had no time to forage for food, and now 
their position was so dangerous that their very lives 
depended on their fast and constant riding. 

Through the weird shadows cast by the bright moon- 
light, they hurried forward. The bushes on the sides 
of the road looked like sentinels, and the troops, their 
nerves tense with excitement, expected every moment 
to hear the cries of the enemy. 

Marching all night, the horsemen came at last to the 
Chickahominy Eiver, and as the cavalry leader naively 
expressed it: '^Here their real troubles began.'* 

They found it swollen to twice its usual height, and 
running like a mill-sluice, but their perilous position 
compelled them to make an attempt to ford it. Plung- 
ing into the raging current, they tried to swim their 
horses across. In two hours they had succeeded in 
getting only seventy-five men over. Delay was danger- 
ous. The cavalry leader set off down stream. A 
temporary bridge was thrown across to a small island 
in the center of the river. On the other side of the 
island they were able to ford their horses. 

That night they rested within twenty-five miles of 
Eichmond, and had the Federals known of their posi- 
tion, it would have fared ill with the daring invaders. 

Eealizing the danger, the commander ordered his 
men forward. For forty-eight hours, they had been in 
saddle. Now their weary heads swayed from side to 
side as they rode, asleep on their horses, and awaking 
with a start as they began to slip from their saddles. 

^^Who goes there r' rang out on the stillness of the 
early morning. 

Now, wide awake and alert, the troops moved for- 
ward, with strained muscles, ready for the enemy. 

—351— 



HERO TALES 



It was a picket of the lOth Virginia Cavalry. 

With jovial taunts, the weary horsemen passed on 
into their own lines. 

The news soon spread among the Confederate sol- 
diers, and the brave horsemen were greeted with cheer 
on cheer as they rode along to their camp. The country 
rang with the daring of the men who had raided 
entirely around the mighty Federal army, bringing 
prisoners and plunder from under their very noses; 
and the South will ever tell with pride of its gallant 
cavalry leader — General J. E. B. Stuart. 



'Look, our ransomed shores around, 
Peace and safety we have found! 
Welcome, friends who once were foes! 
To all the conquering years have gained, 
A nation's rights, a race unchained! 
Children of the day new-born, 
Mindful of its glorious morn; 
Let the pledge our fathers signed 
Heart to heart forever bind! 

'While the stars of heaven shall burn, 
While the ocean tides return. 
Ever may the circling sun 
Find the Many still are One!" 



—352— 



THE TALE OF THE CHILD BRIDE OF 
DELAWARE BAY 



This is tile tale of a child bride, 
who, when her young husband was accused of being a 
spy, defended her home against the depredations of the King's 
soldiers and won their admiration. It is, moreover, the tale of the 
power of a great secret fraternity whose influence encircles the globe. 

HANNAH ISRAEL was a bride, nineteen years 
old, when the American Revolution broke 
out. The ^^ Israel boys,'' her husband, and 
his younger, unmarried brother Joseph, both 
declared their purpose of going to the war. 

^'One of you may go," said Mother Israel, *^but the 
other must stay at home to take care of the women 
folks." 

Both were so eager to go that it was hard to decide 
between them. 

*^I'll draw lots with you," said Joseph. 
The lots were drawn, and — Joseph was chosen to 
offer his life to his country. 

Mother Israel was living in Philadelphia, while the 
married son, Israel Israel, resided thirty miles away. 
About the close of the year 1777, when Greneral Howe 
was in full possession of that city, news of the horrible 
destitution and suffering there reached young Israel. 
He determined, in spite of the danger, to go and provide 
for the wants of his beloved mother. Accordingly, he 
hurriedly set out on foot for her home. His heavy 

—353— 



HERO TALES 



great-coat, served to hide tlie provisions which he was 
carrying. He did not know, until he reached the home 
of a Tory neighbor, how he could get through the British 
lines, but this neighbor, while disagreeing with him in 
politics, said that he did not wish to have ** Mother 
Israel'^ suffer. 

^ ' If you will promise never to betray me, I will give 
you the countersign,'' said he. 

Young Israel promised. In the early evening, he 
arrived at the British outposts. 

^'Who goes there?" called a sentinel. 

*'A friend,'' responded young Israel. 

*^The countersign," demanded the sentinel. 

Without hesitation, Israel gave it. 

*^Pass, friend," said the sentinel, and the traveler 
was within the British lines. 

On reaching his destination, he was delighted to find 
there his soldier brother, Joseph, who was paying a 
secret visit to his home. Joy filled the heart of the 
mother as she gathered her family around her that 
evening. 

On the following day, young Israel started on the 
thirty-mile journey back to his own home on Delaware 
Bay. No adventure befell him, until, just as he reached 
it, he was approached by a British soldier. 

''Here is the spy!" exclaimed the officer. *'You 
are my prisoner," and young Israel was hurried aboard 
the frigate Roebuck, which was anchored in the Dela- 
ware within view of his home. The valuables on his 
person and part of his clothing were taken away from 
him. At night, he was obliged to make his bed on a 
coil of rope on the deck. 

Some days later he was brought to trial. He was 
a member of the Committee of Safety, a patriotic 
organization to protect the homes of the colonists 

—354— 



THE CHILD BRIDE 



against Tory marauders ; and this fact made his posi- 
tion very critical. His Tory neighbors appeared as 
witnesses against him, and not the least important of 
these was the neighbor who had given him the counter- 
sign. 

One of these witnesses testified that when Israel 
Israel was asked to contribute his stock for the needs of 
the ships, he had answered : 

*^I would rather drive my cattle as a present to 
General Washington than to receive thousands of 
dollars in British gold for them.'* 

This statement filled the British officers with anger. 

* ^ Go to his pasture now and slaughter every head of 
cattle that you find there,'' ordered the court. 

The house was situated on an elevation a good dis- 
tance back, and the pasture land sloped down to the 
water's edge. The child-wife, not yet twenty years of 
age, kept guard at the window, now and then catching 
a glimpse of her husband, as he was hauled about the 
deck of the British frigate. 

, The soldiers came ashore and marched toward the 
pasture. Instantly the young wife suspected their 
motive, and, calling to an eight-year-old boy who was 
near, to follow her, she fled to the pasture before them. 

She threw down the bars and stood between the 
soldiers and the herded cattle. 

' ' Stop, or we will fire ! ' ' ordered the British soldiers. 

^^Fire away!" responded the girl defiantly. 

Quick to obey, they fired. The terrified cattle ran 
madly around the pasture. 

' ^ This way ! This way, Joe ! ' ' she called to the boy. 
^'Head them here! Stop them, Joe! Don't let one 
escape!" 

Another volley of shot whizzed by her head. The 
little boy, overcome with terror, fell to the ground. 
-^—355— 



HERO TALES 



The girl caught him in her arms and placed him over 
the fence, and then, herself, drove the cattle to safety 
in the barnyard. The soldiers, deeply impressed by 
her conrage, returned to the frigate. 

^' She's the bravest little woman we've encountered 
yet, ' ' said one of the officers, who had stood on the deck 
of the frigate and watched the soldiers. 

The prisoner, too, had witnessed the incident, and 
he heard these words with pride. 

The trial of the yonng patriot was near its end. 
The punishment of a spy was death. During his 
imprisonment, he had overheard conversations which 
informed him that the British officers were loyal mem- 
bers of a secret order in old England, to which the 
prisoner belonged in America. This secret order has 
exerted great power throughout the nations, and its 
influence has profoundly affected some of the great 
crises in the history of the world. 

The prisoner stood before the military court. His 
Tory neighbors had testified to his ardent devotion to 
the new ^^ rebel" republic. Sentence was now to be 
pronounced. 

The commander of the ship was glaring at him, 
when young Israel made a quick pass. The officers, 
who were all gazing upon him, looked at one another in 
bewilderment, and then nodded their heads. 

** Dismissed," growled the commander. *^ There is 
no evidence to prove that this man is a spy. ' ' 

The Tory witnesses left the ship in chagrin. The 
secret sign of the brotherhood to which they belonged, 
Briton and patriot alike, had saved his life ; and when 
the young husband returned to his wife, he carried gifts 
from the officers to the ** heroic little lady" at home, — 
-to whom he owed the preservation of his property. 



—356— 




THE TALE OF THE FARMER BOY WHO 
ROSE TO LEAD A GREAT ARMY 



This is the tale of a fanner boy 
who brought triumph out of failure; who, when he was 
disappointed in youth, turned his first discouragennent into the 
crown of success. It is a tale of a courage that never d es and in 
it is written the hope of every Annerican youth who is willing to struggle. 

IN WESTMINSTER, in Massachusetts, on the 
eighth day of August, 1839, a son was born in a 
New England home of old Puritan stock. His 
boyhood was passed on the farm, and at the age 
of six years he could ride and manage a horse. When 
he reached his sixteenth year, he sought entrance to 
West Point, and, in his disappointment, he obtained a 
position as a clerk in a store in Boston. 

The news of the firing on Fort Sumter excited the 
old abolition town. Obtaining money from his uncle 
and father, the youth, now twenty-two years old, re- 
cruited a company of infantry, and prepared to march 
to the front as its captain. 

It was the night before the regiment was to move 
on to Washington. An officer passed before the lines. 
**That boy is too young for a captain,'' he remarked. 
**We must have an older man.'' 

The youth protested, but, as his rank was reduced 
to second-lieutenant, manfully said: **I have enlisted 
to fight the enemy, not the governor of my state. ' ' 
He was a tall, graceful young officer, whose resolute, 
—357— 



HERO TALES 



handsome face soon became^ell known in the brigade, 
for every battle-field, won or lost, yielded him laurels. 

* * Other men let up once in a while, but he kept at it 
always," said his commanding officers. 

At the battle of Antietam, the commander of the 
regiment was severely wounded and the young lieu- 
tenant assumed command, leading the men all through 
that terrible day. Soon afterward, he was made the 
colonel of a regiment of his own. When the long 
struggle was over, the New England youth, through 
sheer merit, had risen to the rank of brevet-major- 
general in the regular army. 

He had proved his worth and was now on the road 
to fame. Though he was a great fighter in war, he 
fought with equal gallantry in times of peace, and many 
were the occasions when, by rare judgment, he averted 
bloodshed. 

Years later he was sent to the West to subdue the 
troublesome Indians. Indian warfare in that genera- 
tion was not the matching of spears and arrows against 
modern rifles and machine-guns. The Indians often 
had breech-loading rifles, when the regulars did not. 
The young advocate of peace studied the methods of 
the savages. He believed in giving his enemy no rest 
until he was subdued, and he relentlessly pursued them. 

It was shortly after the fearful massacre of Custer 
and his men, on the Little Big Horn, in June, 1876, that 
the young warrior was sent to Montana to help the 
troops to punish the guilty savages. Most of the sol- 
diers were withdrawn, leaving the New Englander with 
a small command to winter on the Yellowstone Eiver, 
in order to be ready for a Spring campaign. 

**I will not wait," he resolved, ** but will strike the 
decisive blow now. They expect us to hive up for the 
winter, but W9 are not of the hiving kind." 

—358— 



THE FARMER BOY 



It was the twenty-first of October. The troopers 
were lined up on the battlefield at the head of Cedar 
Creek, confronting Sitting Bull, the greatest Indian 
brave of his generation. Sitting Bull, astounded at the 
action of the man who dared fight him in winter as well 
as in summer, sent a flag of truce and wanted an inter- 
view. It was arranged that the American commander 
was to have six persons accompany him, and Sitting 
Bull a like number. From the American lines stalked 
the officer, until he had reached a point half way to the 
Indian's camp and was met by the wily old chief. 

A blanket was spread, and Sitting Bull sat down, 
after the American officer had refused. As the two men 
talked, the young Indian braves left their lines and care- 
lessly sauntered up. Soon there were fifteen warriors 
surrounding the Americans. 

^^ These men are not old enough for council, and, 
unless you send them back we will stop talking,'' ex- 
claimed the officer, his suspicions aroused. "With mut- 
terings and black looks, the young savages retired. 

Later, the American commander learned through 
an interpreter that one of the Indians had said: **Why 
don't you talk strong to himT' 

Sitting Bull had replied: ^'When I do that, I am 
going to shoot him. ' ' 

The American leader fully realized his danger in 
trusting himself to the treacherous savages, but he had 
courageously gone into their midst in the hope of peace- 
fully inducing them to surrender and avoid further 
bloodshed. 

The following day, he again met the chief, and, 
knowing that at any moment he might be shot down 
by the treacherous savages, he strongly urged the In- 
dians to obey the government and return to their 
reservations. The great chief refused. 

^359— 



HERO TALES 



Further parley was useless. The American officer 
whirled on his heel and said to the interpreter, ''Tell 
him that I either will drive him out of the country, or 
he will drive me out. I will take no advantage of his 
being under a flag of truce, and will give him fifteen 
minutes to get back to his lines.'' 

Sitting Bull and his chiefs were infuriated. The 
Indian lines were in an uproar. Hideous cries filled 
the air as the braves dashed out. Flames crept across 
the plains toward the soldiers. The Indians had set fire 
to the grass to stop the advance of the troopers. 

The American commander dashed through the blaze 
with his soldiers and fell on the thousands of yelling 
savages. The Indians, stubbornly resisting, were 
forced to give way, and finally fled in consternation. 

For forty miles they were pursued, fighting all the 
wa}^, until they were driven to the Yellowstone Eiver. 

Six days later, two thousand Indians surrendered 
and returned to the reservation, but Sitting Bull had 
escaped and fled to Canada. 

The western plains were now well cleared for the 
oncoming civilization. The great immigrant trains 
were moving into the prairies and the cry, ''Go West, 
young man, ' ' sounded throughout the East. 

The Spanish-American war broke out. On the 
battle-grour d, in command of the great army, was this 
same warrior from New England, who, nearly forty- 
five years before, had entered the army as a second 
lieutenant, and, by his unfailing courtesy, attention to 
duty, and sheer merit, had risen to the highest position 
in the United States army, and was now leading the 
American flag to triumph against the power of ancient 
Spain, whose ships had first discovered the existence of 
the Western World, and the American people paid 
tribute to their hero — General Nelson A. Miles. 

—360— 




THE TALE OF THE HEIRESS OF OLD 
KINGWOOD MANSION 



This is the tale of a granddaughter 
of the old American aristocracy, who, when the deso- 
lation of war swept the land, opened her heart and home 
to the cause of American liberty. It is the tale of a girl burdened 
with sorrow who found solace in helping others who were in distress. 

IN THE early days, in the village of Kingwood in 
New Jersey, stood an old mansion. It was known 
far and wide as the ^^big stone house," and when 
the Indians attacked the country, the terrified 
settlers, from miles around, would hurry to the strong 
walls of the mansion that stood on the hill, commanding 
a view of the valley. Over its hospitable board, pre- 
sided a distinguished old gentleman — Judge Johnston, 
the chief magistrate of the section. It was his duty to 
administer justice for the maintenance of law and order 
in the wild country. On every Monday night, in the 
spacious halls of his mansion, he held his court, and 
such was his hospitality, that friend and stranger were 
almost compelled to come in. 

It was in this wholesome atmosphere of refinement 
and kindliness, that, on the twentieth day of December, 
in 1758, a granddaughter was born to the Judge — and 
she was named Martha Stewart. Her mother was the 
daughter of the judge, and her father was a prominent 
colonel. Her childhood passed on the hills of the estate 
which adjoined that of the judge, and was owned by 

—361— 



HERO TALES 



her father. When she had reached thirteen years of 
age, she was left motherless, and her father became 
her most intimate companion. His friends were 
wealthy, and, when he entertained, his daughter was 
hostess of the mansion. The leading men of the times 
gathered about their fireside, and Martha soon absorbed 
the principles of patriotism and freedom. 

One day there came to this home, a young merchant 
— Eobert Wilson, of the Barony of Innishowen, in 
Ireland. He had been trained in his home country to 
a mercantile life, and had come to America and acquired 
a considerable fortune. He, too, was imbued with the 
spirit of patriotism, and many were the nights that he 
sat before the glowing fire in the old mansion, and 
talked of the struggles of his own country for freedom. 
His gallant manner and true heart appealed to the 
daughter of the colonel. One January day, in the year 
that America declared her independence, the wedding 
bells rang through the colonePs home, and Martha 
became the bride of young Wilson. 

The bridal year was passed in the turmoil of the 
American Eevolution, but within the hearts of the 
newly wedded couple there was sweet peace. Then 
came a sad day — the young husband sickened — and 
died. Thus, at the age of twenty years, Martha was 
left a widow. Her father, the colonel, was engaged in 
the Revolution. 

^^I have nothing left now,*' she said, '^ but my 

country. I will give my love to that." 

The doors of her home were thrown wide open to 
the soldiers. On the gates that faced the public high- 
way this invitation was posted : 

^* Hospitality within, to all American officers, and 
refreshments for all their soldiers.'' 

The sorrowing Martha even stood at her gates, and 
—362— 



THE HEIRESS 



as the regiments marched by, personally offered hos- 
pitality to the officers. The sick were brought into her 
chambers, and her servants prepared food to be served 
to any who might knock at the door. 

When the news arrived of the victory at Yorktown, 
Martha 's heart was filled with joy. Then followed the 
home-coming of her father, the gallant Colonel Stewart, 
and the old mansion once more rang with the laughter 
of joy and good fellowship. 

Martha was again the hostess at her father's hearth. 
The family fortune was used to erect a new and impos- 
ing mansion, on the heights of Lebanon. The house- 
hold was gathered in thanksgiving, when, suddenly, the 
colonel was summoned away. 

It was Sunday. The colonel had been gone during 
the entire night. Martha was seated with the other 
members of the household on the veranda. 

^ ' It seems to me that I hear footsteps, ' ' said Martha. 

* ^ Surround the house ! Close in ! ' * was the strange 
response, and, instantly, without warning, some thirty 
men with blackened faces, and a variety of weapons, 
rushed onto the porch. 

'^We demand Colonel Stewart,'' spoke the leader. 
*^He is not here," replied Martha. 

* ^He is here ! " answered the men angrily, and began 
a search of the house. 

The colonel 's son, and a son-in-law, who were guests 
at the house, refused them admittance. 

*^You are our prisoners," exclaimed the leader. 

^'I would like to know, who in the world you are, 
first," spoke one of the young men. The blow of a 
sword felled him to the ground, in response. 

* 'You may search the house, if you wish," exclaimed 
Martha, excitedly. ''You will not find my father — for 
he is not here." 

—363— 



HERO TALES 



^^On penalty of your life you will lead the way," 
exclaimed the leader. 

Martha was forced to lead the marauders through 
the home of the patriot, who had stood staunchly for 
American independence, and thus aroused the anger of 
the Tories. Silver heirlooms, and other valuables were 
taken by the marauders. Silks, and rich mementoes, I 
were pulled down, as they passed through the rooms, 
until the mansion was stripped of its treasures and 
finally, before leaving, the intruders invaded the larder, 
and feasted on the good things intended for the Sunday 
repast of the household. 

Martha, and the members of the family, were led ; 
to a room in the attic, where she was forced to promise ' 
that she would not allow any one to leave the house 
within two hours. The door was then locked, and the '■ 
key thrown into the bushes. Heavy pieces of furniture . 
were pushed into the halls and stairway to obstruct 
them. ' 

It was some minutes later that a posse of three ; 
hundred patriots were in pursuit, but the raiders had ' 
fled to the woods, and were not found. The absence of 
Colonel Stewart had undoubtedly saved his life, for the 
Tories were revengeful over the victory of the patriots, 
and were seeking the life of one of its most heroic 
officers. ; 

I 

I 



'All's well for the banner that dances free, 
Where the mountains are shouting the news to the sea. 
All's well for the bold, and all's ill for the strong, 
In the fight and the flight that shall hold us long, 
In tale and song." 



—364— 



THE TALE OF THE MISSION CHURCH 
IN THE STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM 



This is tine tale of a mission church 
that became a stone fortress, about which raged a 
people's struggle for independence. It is a tale of brave men 
whom it sheltered against the overwhelming power of an army, only 
to lose their lives at its altars in defense of its sacred walls and liberty. 

IT WAS in the year 1836, when Texas was a province 
of Mexico, and was fighting for its independence. 
Hemmed in, in a little mission church known as 
the Alamo, in San Antonio, on the Texas frontier, 
forty-six brave American frontiersmen faced an army 
of 4,000 Mexican troops under General Santa Anna. 
Deceived as to the number of men in the Alamo, Santa 
Anna feared to make the attack that would have quickly 
forced their surrender. Instead, he laid siege to the- 
little stone fortress. 

Texas was determined to be independent. Mexico, 
laying claim to the territory, was equally bent upon 
retaining possession of it. All along the frontier, little 
bodies of daring pioneers were armed and waiting for 
the invaders. Had these rugged heroes of the woods 
and plains worked together, they could easily have 
driven Santa Anna out of the country. But organiza- 
tion was lacking, and Santa Anna was thus enabled to 
attack one small band at a time. Colonel William B. 
Travis, with his garrison of forty-five men, occupied 
the Alamo, when Santa Anna, with his army of Mexi- 

—365— 



HERO TALES 



cans, attacked it. With true frontier heroism, they 
refused to surrender, resolved to die fighting. 

Miles away, on the Eio Grande, Davy Crockett, with 
his little band of 140 sturdy woodsmen, heard that 
Travis and his men were besieged. Instantly they 
started to the rescue. It was a long, hard march, but 
they were trained to such work, and the Alamo was 
reached before Santa Anna had discovered the weak- 
ness of the garrison. 

Davy Crockett was a pioneer and a fighter. He 
had dealt with the Indians, and was educated in the 
stealthy mode of Indian attack. Now he kept his men 
concealed, and under the cover of night made a recon- 
naissance. Then he learned his fatal mistake. He had 
expected to find the Mexicans numbered by hundreds. 
Instead, they were numbered by thousands. On all 
sides of the Alamo they were drawn up, company after 
company. Even reinforced by his small band, there 
was no chance for the heroic defenders of the fort. 
For his men to enter was to go to certain doom. 

A short conference was held. Crockett made it 
plain to his men that, even under the most favorable 
circumstances, they could not hope to save the handful 
of men in the mission. The most they could do, was to 
die with them. Then came the question: *^ Shall we 
go inr' 

It took but a moment to decide. To a man the 
answer was the same. 

^^Yes.^' 

At the break of dawn, when Santa Anna's men were 
drowsily pacing their beats, Davy Crockett and his band 
made their rush for the stockade-gate. Taken by sur- 
prise, the Mexicans were thrown into confusion, and, 
before they could rally to oppose the rush, the gateway 
had been gained. The gates swung open, and Crockett 

—366— 



THE MISSION CHURCH 



and his men, self -condemned, entered the Alamo, shout- 
ing to the cheering defenders, ^'WeVe come to die with 
you I ' ^ 

With the break of day, Santa Anna again laid siege 
to the fort. Attack after attack was made, only to be 
repulsed. The defenders were sure shots. Not a 
charge of powder was wasted from the inside of the 
walls, while all day long the bullets pattered against 
the sides of the fort, now and then finding an entrance 
through a loop-hole or window, to lodge in the body 
of one of the defenders, and reduce the garrison by 
one more. Night came, but the assault still con- 
tinued. Under the cover of darkness, the Mexicans 
carried up a ladder and placed it against the outside 
of the stockade; but to try to gain entrance in that 
manner was worse than useless. Davy Crockett was 
there to meet the first man who dared to climb; with 
knife in hand, he saluted each newcomer, and soon this 
plan was abandoned. 

From then on, the siege was continuous. Night and 
day the Mexicans stormed the little stockade. Slowly 
but surely, the slender company of heroes grew smaller 
and smaller. The losses of the besiegers were ten to 
one, but still there was no hope. Travis, the brave com- 
mander of the little garrison fell, mortally wounded, 
and the direction of the fight fell to Davy Crockett and 
Colonel Jim Bowie. Without rest or sleep, the sur- 
vivors stuck to their places, fighting on and on until 
they fell. The Mexican dead numbered a thousand. 
The troops had to be driven to the attack at the point 
of their officers' swords, and still Davy Crockett and 
the few survivors fought, knowing it was but to die in 
the end. 

Eleven days passed. Worn to the brink of death 
from their continuous fighting, the few defenders who 

—367— 



HERO TALES 



remained were failing in their marksmanship. Only 
the unconquerable courage of Davy Crockett kept them 
at it. It was not want of courage which ailed them, but 
simply exhaustion and lack of sleep. Santa Anna, alert 
for the opportunity, massed his forces in front of the 
stockade. The little band inside prepared to die. With 
ladders and battering rams the Mexicans advanced. 
By the dozen they were shot, but the column never 
stopped till it reached the wall. The battering-rams 
crashed against the gate. It yielded and finally opened. 
Through the gap the Mexicans flooded. In one corner 
of the stockade the dozen survivors gathered for their 
last stand. 

A small Mexican cannon was hauled into the Alamo. 
In one room lay the wounded and dying. But now that 
the end had come, every man who could pull a trigger 
was a fighter. Travis, dying, unable to move, shot 
until a sabre-stroke stilled his hand forever. The 
cannon was dragged to the door of the room where the 
wounded lay. One discharge, and then a few bayonet- 
thrusts had finished all but Crockett and five of his 
men. In a little corner, they battled like demons. 

Surrounded by a pile of dead bodies, these five were 
finally overpowered and taken prisoners. They were 
led before Santa Anna. Gloating over his victory, 
which had cost him 1,600 men, the Mexican general 
promised the dauntless five their safety as prisoners of 
war. Even as he spoke the words, the five heroes were 
approached from behind by order of the treacherous 
general. Crockett, at the sign of bad faith, started 
to spring at Santa Anna's throat. He was too late. 
He fell, pierced by twelve swords. Crockett and his 
brave men had indeed died with the Alamo garrison. 

It was from this tragic incident that the war-cry 
was derived, ^'Eemember the Alamo !'' 



-^368— 



THE TALE OF THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT 
IN THE HARBOR OF TRIPOLI 



This is the tale of a young lieutenant 
who carried the American flag into the Mediterranean, 
and when it was in danger of being dishonored, set fire to the 
frigate, rather than see it fly the ensign of another nation. It is a 
tale of the valor that forced the world to pay honnage to the new republic. 

IT WAS in the winter of 1803, The port of Tripoli 
was blockaded by the American warships. War 
had been declared on the piratical Barbary States, 
to put an end to their infamous practice of 
capturing citizens of foreign countries and holding 
them for ransom. Innumerable tales of their cruelty 
had been spread abroad. 

The new Eepublic of the United States was paying 
tribute like other great powers to secure freedom from 
their piratical attacks, and decided that it was more 
honorable to pay "millions for defense,'^ than '^one 
cent for tribute,^' and American ships were despatched 
to punish the pirates. 

One of the squadron, the PhiladelpMa, had run 
aground, and the enemy had driven the crew into the 
sea and captured the frigate. They had hauled the 
ship up under the guns of the forts on shore and placed 
a crew on board to guard it. 

The Americans outside the harbor smarted under 
the humiliation of seeing one of their best vessels held 
and manned by the dusky natives. 

—369— 



HERO TALES 



A young lieutenant, in command of the American 
ship Enterprise, stood one day on the deck of his ship, 
looking across the water toward the captured Philadel- 
phia. The tall, slender figure, clad in the picturesque 
uniform of a lieutenant of the navy, strode up and 
down. His tanned face, stem in expression, wore a 
frown. His blue eyes were studying the location of the 
captured vessel. 

^^I will do it,'' he exclaimed. 

Ordering his gig-boat, he was rowed over the water 
to the flagship of the squadron, and mounting to the 
deck, he disappeared into the cabin of the commanding 
officer of the fleet. 

Shortly afterward he emerged, his face relaxed and 
indicating great pleasure. Back to his own little Enter- 
prise he hurried, and gaining the deck he called his 
officers in conference. His plan was outlined in a few 
sharp words. Some of his brother officers' faces 
showed exultation, and others anxiety, as the full im- 
port of their commander's words came to them. 

Some days later, a group of muffled figures, some in 
the garb of the Tripoli people, boarded a Tripolitan 
ketch, and set the sail. Into the harbor, the boat crept 
slowly, laboring along as though in distress. The little 
vessel pursued her course unnoticed, until nearly into 
the center of the harbor. Then she suddenly turned 
and headed directly for the Philadelphia. No vessels 
were allowed to approach close to this ship, as the 
Tripolitans feared a surprise from the Americans. 

Still, thought the commander of the Tripolitans, the 
Americans would not dare to enter the harbor, with 
one small boat, with all the guns pointed at her. Thus 
the little ketch was allowed to cross the danger-line and 
to approach the frigate. 

On board the Philadelphia, the crew of Tripolitans 
—370— 



THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT 



were lazily working, coiling ropes, painting the scarred 
boards of the ship, and examining the guns that were 
double shotted, ready to repel any attempt to seize her. 

The gaze of the red-capped commander of the Tri- 
politans grew fixed, and his body tense, as he watched 
the oncoming boat. With a sigh of relief he relaxed 
into his former listless attitude. Suddenly, he straight- 
ened up again. He saw a flash of light in the bottom of 
the ketch. Yes, it was the flash of a gun in the sunlight. 
He gave a cry — and just then the little boat crashed 
into the side of the Philadelphia. 

With thrilling cheers, the men in the ketch sprang 
for the sides of the frigate. Grasping ropes, anchor- 
chains, — anything that offered a hold — they clambered 
over the side onto the deck. 

The affrighted Tripolitans shrank back at the sight 
of the Americans, but were rallied by their officers, and, 
with gnashing teeth, rushed headlong at the daring 
intruders. The young American lieutenant in the lead 
met the thrust of a cutlass and parried it. A bullet 
whistled by his head. Everywhere was the flash of 
cutlass and pike. Pistols exploded in his face. Un- 
heeding the danger of his position, in the center of all 
the fire from the frowning fortresses on every side of 
the harbor, the daring lieutenant cheered his men on. 

With a mighty rush, as of tigers at their prey, the 
Tripolitans were driven over the side of the frigate 
into the sea, and the ship was in possession of the 
Americans. The alarm spread to the shore. The na- 
tives were putting out in boats to cut off retreat from 
the Philadelphia, and through the apertures of the 
forts, guns were being pointed at her. Hoarse cries 
were heard by the brave attacking party as the officers 
in the forts trained their muzzles upon them. 

The American seamen stood guard on the captured 
—371— 



HERO TALES 



vessel. Down the liatchways, figures scuttled to open 
the magazines. They reappeared, laying a train of 
powder on the decks of the gallant frigate. Now they 
were ready. The young lieutenant ordered his men 
into the ketch alongside, and after a last glance about, 
he applied his torch to the serpentine trail of glistening 
powder, and, as it began to hiss and sputter, he sprang 
into the little boat below. 

Hurriedly, the Americans drew away from the 
doomed ship, now the focus of a terrific bombardment 
from the forts. Shells roared at the little ketch. Great 
geysers of water shot up from the sea, telling where a 
Tripolitan shell had missed its mark. The bullets 
showered around them like hail. 

The young American lieutenant, still unheeding the 
fire of shell, stood in the stern of the ketch watching the 
frigate. The great, deserted ship lay close to shore. 
Suddenly, there was a tremendous explosion. The 
frigate seemed to rise from the sea; her sides burst 
apart; her deck heaved up. The towering masts top- 
pled as a great flame burst through the port-holes and 
hatchways, and the gallant Philadelphia was blown into 
atoms. 

Long into the night, the Americans outside the har- 
bor could see the flames of the burning frigate, reflect- 
ing upon the lowering sky, a monument to the bravery 
and daring of the young American lieutenant and his 
men, who, through all their daring adventure, under 
the terrific fire of the enemy's strong forts, did not lose 
a life. 

For his valor, the young American lieutenant was 
promoted to a captaincy ; Congress presented him with 
a sword, and the name of Stephen Decatur will be 
passed down the generations as an inspiration to man- 
hood. 

—372— 




THE TALE OF THE SCHOOLGIRL WHO 
SAVED FORT HENRY 



This is the tale of a schoolgirl 
who knew no fear; who was willing to sacrifice her 
life rather than endanger her brother. It is a tale of the uncon- 
scious heroism of girlhood in which there is no thought of self 
when there is a noble duty to be performed for those whom she loves. 

IT WAS back in the days of old Fort Henry, in 
1782, on the borderland between aboriginal 
America and the new republic. The capital of 
West Virginia was then a small settlement con- 
sisting of abont twenty-five log huts. Its stronghold 
of defense was ^ ' Fort Henry, ' ' situated about a quarter 
of a mile from the little village. 

The hostile red-men laid siege to the village and 
the terrified settlers sought refuge in the nearby fort. 
It was a long and tedious battle. The fort was so 
strongly guarded that the redskins at first made little 
impression upon it, but one by one the inmates dropped 
away, until only eighteen remained of the forty-two 
who had fled there for protection. 

Almost overcome by fatigue, they kept constant 
watch for the enemy which surrounded the fort. Few 
were allowed to leave the gates, for the attempt meant 
probable death. It became necessary, however, to have 
reinforcements, and messengers were safely despatched 
to neighboring villages. Before they had the time to 
secure help for the fort, a new and bewildering trouble 

—373— 



HERO TALES 



befell its garrison. To their horror, they found that 
the ammunition was giving out, and that if more were 
not somehow obtained, they must fall victims to their 
savage foes. As soon as they suspected that the white 
men were out of powder or shot they would advance 
and take the fort with little resistance, probably mas- 
sacring and scalping the whole company. 

Brave Colonel Zane, the commander of the fort, was 
nearly worn out from the constant watch which he had 
been keeping. He peered out of the fort in the direc- 
tion of his own home. There it was, still standing, and 
not more than sixty rods from the spot where he was 
taking his observations. 

' ' We must have ammunition, ' ' he said to his friends, 
^ ^ or we are lost. There is a keg of powder in my house, 
but how can we get itf 

Courageous young men advanced and offered them- 
selves for the hazardous service. 

^*It is a great risk," said the commander, *^and 
there are so few of us left that we must husband our 
strength. We cannot afford to lose more than one 
man. ' ' 

The volunteers, never flinching, still stood ready. 

* ^ We cannot afford to lose even one man. A woman 
ought to go," spoke clearly a girPs voice at the side of 
the Colonel. 

Every eye turned instantly to the speaker. Stand- 
ing there, lovely to look upon, in the glory of her youth, 
yet with every line of her face and figure portraying 
courage and determination, was Miss Betsy Zane, the 
sister of the Colonel. She had uttered the thought that 
was in each man's mind, but which would have never 
been spoken by any of them. 

She had just come from a fashionable boarding- 
school in Philadelphia, and had been visiting her 

—374— 



THE SCHOOLGIRL 



brother, when the Indian outbreak occurred. With 
him she had fled to the fort. Strange, indeed, sounded 
the words of this daughter of culture, amid the boom 
of the guns of this frontier fort in the wilderness. 

^^A woman adds no strength to the garrison,'' she 
insisted. ^* Please let me go." 

**You!" cried the Colonel, shocked at the mere 
suggestion. 

^ * Yes, me, ' ' she replied. ^ ' I know where the powder 
lies, so that it would take me less time than anyone 
else. And as I said before, you cannot spare even one 
man to take the risk." 

**The risk will be as great to you as to a man," 
replied her brother, only partly persuaded by the girPs 
earnestness. 

*^Bah, the Indians wouldn't think a white woman 
worth a charge of powder and lead," she answered. 
^ * If we were within tomahawking distance, it might be 
different. But even then the garrison would be as 
strong as before without me." 

The girl, who, as tradition tells, was of rare grace 
and beauty, pleaded more earnestly than ever, when she 
saw their determined opposition to her plan and pur- 
pose. But dire necessity more than the girl's entreaties, 
was causing them to relent. 

With a heart full of misgiving. Colonel Zane finally 
swung open the gate. His sister stepped out into the 
roadway. The savages were dismayed when they saw 
a woman come forth so daringly, but not a rifle was 
raised as the young girl darted from the garrison to the 
deserted house. They could only believe that she must 
be a decoy, sent to engage them on one side while they 
were attacked on another. She, therefore, reached the 
house in safety and the Indians kept closely to their 
shelter. 

—375— 



HERO TALES 



It was hardly a moment before the door of the house 
swung open again, and Miss Zane emerged carrying the 
powder in her apron. Instantly, the whole proceed- 
ing was clear to the enemy. There was naturally but 
one conclusion: the powder was getting low or no one 
would have taken such a dangerous chance. 

In less time than it takes to tell it, rifles were leveled 
at the girl and hundreds of bullets whistled about her 
head. Like a panther she sped on to the fort. 

The men in the fort watched her breathlessly. As 
she came near to the gate, it opened to receive her and 
closed again. 

She laid the precious burden at the Colonel's feet, 
while a shout went up for the girl who was willing to 
sacrifice her life to save others. 

Miraculous as it may seem, she had not received 
a wound. She had remained unscathed through the 
rain of fire and bullets, as if protected by some unseen 
power. 

The village that was saved from destruction by 
Betsy Zane, has become a large and prosperous city, 
the capital of its rich state. Who knows but that its 
existence to-day is due to her bravery, and that, if it 
had not been for her, the settlement swept away by the 
Indians would never again have been rebuilt? 



"A hundred years have passed since then; 
The savage never came again. 
Upon those half-cleared, rolling lands, 
A crowded city proudly stands; 
But of the many who reside 
By green Ohio's rushing tide, 
Not one has lineage prouder than 
(Be he poor or ricli^ the man 
Who boasts that in his spotless strain 
Mingles the blood of Betsy Zane." 

—376— 




THE TALE OF THE WRECKING TUG 
AT THE STATUE OF LIBERTY 



This is the tale of a wrecking tug captain 
at the gate of the new world ; a tale of everyday life 
among the men who patrol the waters at the port of the greatest 
metropolis of western civilization and offer their lives to safe- 
guard the commerce and the trade of a great and prosperous people. 

IT WAS early one morning in eTanuary, in 1905. 
A ferry-boat was slowly picking its way through 
the ice-floes in the Hudson Eiver. It was the first 
morning trip, carrying the workers from their 
homes to their duties in New York City. The boat was 
crowded with men, women, and children, and the drive- 
ways were choked with the champing, crowding horses 
of delivery wagons and trucks. The weather had been 
bitterly cold for weeks and the keen northwest winds 
had blown the great fields of floating ice into a compact 
mass along the New York shore of the river. 

The ferryboat was sturdily breasting the water and 
ice, and was gathering strength for another plunge 
against the stubbornly resisting mass, when a great 
ocean-going tug-boat loomed directly in her sea path. 
The pilot of the tug, seeing the danger, shifted his 
wheel to avoid a collision, but tide and wind were too 
strong for him, and with a tremendous crash, the tug 
rammed the ferry boat amidships. Shriek after shriek 
went up from the women. Terror was rampant. 
Mothers, with blanched faces, seized their children in 

—377— 



HERO TALES 



their arms, while panic-stricken men leaped the rails 
to escape the plunging, overthrown horses. 

The disabled boat careened wildly from the shock 
and turned helplessly over on her side. It seemed only 
a question of a minute when the boat would sink to the 
bottom with her precious cargo of human life. The 
bitterly cold water rushed into the gash in the hull of 
the doomed boat, with a fear-inspiring sound. 

Not far away was the wrecking-tug. Reliance, 
steaming slowly along, with Captain Thomas A. Scott 
on the forward deck. He ran his experienced eye along 
the water-line of the crippled boat, now exposed to full 
view, and immediately noted the only hope of saving 
the vessel. With a cat-like spring, he hurled himself 
from the security of his own ship to the rail of the 
stricken craft, and without a moment's delay he pro- 
ceeded about his work of rescue. Thrusting aside the 
hands of the kneeling women, who were blessing him, 
he tore off the life-preserver from the man standing 
nearest him and threw it overboard. 

* ^ Follow me ! " he shouted. 

Such confidence did the personality of this man 
inspire, that the horde of badly frightened passengers 
followed him up the inclined deck. Slipping and grasp- 
ing at hand holds, they stood until the shifted weight of 
the passengers had righted the boat nearly to an even 
keel. 

* * Any man that stirs, will go overboard, ' ' he shouted. 
With this threat, he rushed for the ladder leading 

to the engine-room, and met the engineer coming up, 
deserting his post. Captain Scott drove him back to 
the engine-room and looked at the terrible hole in the 
side of the boat. The size of the gash was discouraging, 
but casting about, he found some mattresses on the 
bunks of the boat's crew. Snatching one of these, he 

—378— 



THE WRECKING TUG 



hurried to the vent through which the cold water of 
the river was pouring in torrents, and with super- 
human strength he forced the mattress into the breach. 
The engineer had brought up other mattresses and 
blankets, sheets, clothes, carpets, and whatever else he 
could find. These the captain crammed into the great 
rent until nearly all the space left by the prow of the 
ocean-tug had been filled. Working against time, for 
the threatened boat was likely to go down at any 
minute, these men labored to save the lives of the hun- 
dreds of passengers on deck, who were clinging and 
crowding against the rail in the bitter winter air, fear- 
ing that any instant the boat would go to the bottom 
with all on board. 

' ' Another mattress — quick ! All gone ? A blanket 
then ; carpet — anything. Five minutes more and she '11 
right herself. Quick, for God's sake!" 

It was useless. Every rag even had been used. 

'^Your coat then. Think of the babies, man. Do 
you hear them?" 

Coats and vests were off in an instant, the engineer 
on his knees braced the shattered planks, and Captain 
Scott forced the garments into the splintered opening. 

The water was gaining. Captain Scott stood up for 
a moment undecided, and ran his eyes over the engine- 
room searching for more material, but there was noth- 
ing for his needs. Deliberately, he turned to the frail 
wall of cloth that separated them from the turbulent, 
heaving waters. Grasping the weak calking, he tore 
down a part of it, and before the engineer could inter- 
fere, he thrust his own body into the breach with one 
arm protruding through the gap into the cold water, 
where the ice beat against it fearfully. 

What heroism ! Not the inspired heroism done on 
the spur of the moment and over in an instant, but the 

—379— 



HERO TALES 



deliberate placing of his own body in danger and suffer- 
ing to remain until the ship could be towed to shore 
and the passengers could be landed safely — the only 
bulwark between life and death. 

An hour later the disabled boat was towed back to 
its slip, the floating ice buffeting it continually, with 
the heroic Captain Scott still crowded into the gash in 
its side — every passenger on board had been saved by 
the heroic sacrifice of the courageous captain. 

When they lifted him from his position he was 
unconscious and barely alive. The water had frozen 
his blood and the floating ice had mangled his arm fear- 
fully. When the color began to come back to his 
cheeks, he opened his eyes slowly and said to the doctor 
bandaging his wounds: 

*^Wuz any of them babies hurt?" 



"Not in the dire, ensanguined front of war, 
Conquered or eonquerer, 

'Mid the dread battle-peal, did tliey go down 
To the still under-sea s, with fair Renown 
To weave for them the hero-martyr's crown. 
They strucli no blow 
'Gainst an embattled foe; 
With valiant-hearted Saxon hardihood 
They stood not as the Essex sailors stood, 
So sore bestead in that far Chilian bay; 
Yet no less faithful they. 

"What though they faced no storm of iron hail 
That freedom and the right might still prevail? 
The path of duty it was theirs to tread 
To death's dark vale through ways of travail led. 



-380— 




THE TALE OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE IN 
THE SANTEE SWAMP 



This is the tale of a soldier's wife 
who defied starvation while her husband was fighting for 
the flag of his country. It is but the sinnple story of one of 
thousands of Annerican wonnen whose heroisnn at home in time of 
war is fully as noble as that on the battle-line before the cannon's mouth. 

DOWN in the Sumter District of South Carolina 
lived Dorcas Eichardson. The American 
Eevolution was sweeping the land, and the 
South was standing heroically for the flag. 
Dorcas, when only twenty years of age, was mar- 
ried to Eichard Eichardson, and went with her husband 
to a prosperous plantation. For the years that fol- 
lowed, to the time of the opening of the war, Mrs. 
Eichardson enjoyed all the comforts of life in the sunny 
South. 

Then the struggle began. Her husband enlisted 
and was made captain of a militia company. For 
the six years following, he was seldom able to be 
at home with his family. When Charleston surren- 
dered, he was taken prisoner and confined on John's 
Island, and while there he was afflicted with the dread 
disease, small-pox. So changed was the captain's 
appearance after he had recovered from the ravages 
of this disfiguring ailment that he was able, unrecog- 
nized, to make his escape from the island. He found 
refuge in the Santee Swamp, in the neighborhood of 

^381— 



HERO TALES 



his home. This swamp-land was bordered by dense 
woods and deep thickets; the trees, growing close 
together, were wound round and round with creeping, 
clinging vines. Here it was that many despairing 
Americans had hidden themselves in times of danger. 

The British were sweeping the South, leaving 
desolation everywhere in their path. While Captain 
Eichardson was away at the war, they entered his 
home. A regiment of cavalry were making their head- 
quarters there, enjoying the luxuries of his crops and 
orchards, while Mrs. Eichardson and her children 
were driven to a room in the rear of the old mansion 
and were given only sufficient rations to keep them 
alive. She dared not complain. Each day she took a 
portion of the food that was given to her and smuggled 
it away to her husband to keep him from starvation. 
This dangerous errand she intrusted to an old servant 
who had been on the plantation many years, and knew 
every inch of the swamp where the husband was 
hiding. 

Mrs. Eichardson, to comfort and console her hus- 
band in his loneliness, now and then made the hazardous 
journey to the swamp. He longed to see his children ; 
so one day she took her little daughter with her and 
returned in safety. In a short time, however, the 
British became aware of Captain Eichardson 's escape. 
Scouts were sent in every direction, searching for him, 
and rewards were offered for his capture. These were 
days of agony to Mrs. Eichardson, who felt that the 
hour was near when her husband must be delivered into 
the hands of the enemy. 

It was about this time that a British officer, eager to 
learn something concerning the whereabouts of the 
escaped American captain, came to the Eichardson 
home. He took the little daughter on his knee, and, 

—382— 



THE SOLDIER'S WIFE 



caressing her, asked when she had last seen her father. 
The innocent child replied very promptly that she had 
seen him only a few days before. 

*^And where?" persisted the officer. 

**0n John's Island," replied the little girl. The 
officer knowing of no place by that name except thq 
island from which Captain Eichardson had escaped, 
remarked impatiently. 

*^ Pshaw, that was a long time ago." 

Mrs. Eichardson was overjoyed; and, when the 
officer had left the house, she proudly took her little 
daughter in her arms and kissed her fervently. 

^^You are a brave little girl," she said, **You have 
saved your father." 

Not many days later, the British were called away. 
Mrs. Eichardson hurried with the news to her husband. 
Under the cover of night, he came from his hiding-place 
in the swamps and hurried to his home. An hour had 
passed and his heart was greatly cheered. He stepped 
to the window to let his eyes rest once more on his 
plantation. 

^^What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Eichardson, 
catching the look of pallor that passed over his 
face. 

* ^ The British are entering the gate, ' ' exclaimed her 
husband in a tone of despair. 

Mrs. Eichardson looked from the window. A 
patrolling party, that had been left to guard the house, 
was coming up the front walk. 

* ^ Quick ! Quick ! ' ' she commanded, dragging at her 
husband's arm, *'Go to the back door and flee to the 
woods. I'll take care of them here." 

Mrs. Eichardson stepped to the front door, and, as 
the soldiers approached, she was working busily, sweep- 
ing and dusting the entrance. The soldiers commended 

—383— 



HERO TALES 



her industry, and she fell into a conversation with them 
about the weather and their health. Not the least sign 
of agitation was visible in the brave woman's face, and 
the soldiers, waiting for admittance, never suspected 
the tumult that raged in her heart. 

Captain Richardson was soon in his refuge in the 
swailip, and not long after safely entered the ranks of 
Major Marion. His longing, however, to again see his 
home, soon overcame him. As he was coming in dis- 
guise along the plantation, he was spied by a Tory. He 
had hardly reached his home when it was surrounded. 
He fled from the rear door, mounted his horse, which 
was standing near, and dashed away amid a volley of 
shot, without receiving a wound. 

The British were so impressed by his daring that 
they wrote a secret dispatch to him, offering him wealth 
and power if he would join the King's army. The mes- 
sage was intrusted to Mrs. Eichardson, who slipped a 
second message into the hands of her servant, entreat- 
ing her husband to hold fast to his own country, 
heroically assuring him that the family were well, 
happy, and supplied with all the necessaries of life. As 
she wrote these lines, she was half-starved, and was 
clothed in rags, but she denied it all, in the fear that her 
husband might be tempted to renounce his allegiance to 
the great cause that she loved. 

The war was soon over. Captain Richardson 
returned to his plantation, and the rest of his days 
were spent repaying the devotion of his faithful 
wife. 



—384— 




THE TALE OF THE SURVEYOR WHO 
SAVED THE MIDDLE WEST 



This is the tale of a surveyor 
who saved the great dominion of the Middle West to 
Annerican civilization, who held the vast territory against the 
onslaughts of King and savage and planted the American flag for- 
ever on its rich domain, but passed out his own life alone and In poverty. 

IT WAS in May, in 1778, that a band of picturesque 
frontiersmen, one hundred and sixty strong, 
drifted down the Ohio Eiver in flat-boats. They 
were tall, gaunt men, clad in the leather hunting 
shirts and leggings, that marked the huntsman of that 
period. Their leader, George Eogers Clark, was a 
very strong man, with light hair and a determined 
countenance, in every respect a striking-looking figure. 
Before reaching the Mississippi, the rafts were 
poled to the shore, and the band landed, to march on 
the Illinois towns held by the English, their foes. The 
British commander of the entire Northwestern district, 
up to Detroit, had his headquarters in Kaskaskia, one 
of the small Illinois towns, and for Kaskaskia the 
determined men were headed. 

The strong garrison of English and Creole militia, 
closely allied with the Indians, greatly outnumbered 
the small force marching against them, but the intrepid 
leader of the band determined to attack the town. 
Through the woods they wound their silent way, hiding 
by day and marching by night until they came within 

—385— 



HERO TALES 



striking distance of the garrison. Clark had planned 
to take the garrison by surprise, and without firing a 
gun. 

The English officers, resting in their belief of 
security, were given to entertainment, and this night, 
on the Fourth of July, were giving a great ball to the 
pleasure-loving Creoles. 

The fort was a blaze of light, and through the 
windows could be seen the rapidly whirling figures, as 
the English officers and Creole maids swung through 
the dances. Even the soldiers, who should have been 
at their posts, were there, joining in the revelry, which 
was at its heighth when a tall figure, clad in hunting 
costume, passed unnoticed through the door-way, and 
quietly leaned against the wall. For some moments the 
man stood there, watching the whirling dancers in the 
glare of the torches. 

Suddenly, a wild warwhoop rang through the room, 
as an Indian sprang to his feet from the floor, where he 
had been lying, carefully scrutinizing the gaunt figure 
of the stranger. The dancing ceased abruptly, and 
girls were left in the middle of the floor, as the men 
rushed about in confusion. The stranger stepped for- 
ward and bade them be quiet; but, *' henceforth, '^ he 
said, *^you dance under the United States flag, and not 
under that of England.'' 

The audacity of the stranger and his singular words 
utterly bewildered the dancers ; but when they looked 
through the door, and saw the determined faces of the 
wild-looking men outside, they understood the confi- 
dence which was expressed in the words of their daring 
leader. 

The surprise had been complete, and the village was 
indeed in the possession of the Americans. Clark then 
addressed the Creoles and said, *^We come as your 

—386— 



THE SURVEYOR 



allies, not as foes/' He promised them that if they 
would join forces with him they would be citizens of the 
United States, and treated in all respects on an equality 
with his comrades. The fickle Creoles had not cared 
much for the English, and readily consented. They 
were so enthusiastic, that they sent messengers to the 
other Creoles on the Wabash, and induced them to join 
with the Americans. Clark was now complete master 
of the village ; but when the British governor, Ham- 
ilton, at Detroit, heard of the surprise, he prepared to 
drive the Americans out. 

In the fall of that year, he loaded a great fleet of 
war-canoes with five hundred fighting-men— French, 
Indians, and British soldiers— and landed at Vincennes. 
The Vincennes Creoles refused to fight against the 
British, and the American officer stationed there was 
forced to surrender to the superior force of soldiers. 

Winter came on, and the British commander decided 
to remain at Vincennes until the following spring. He 
disbanded the Indians, and sent part of his soldiers 
back to Detroit, believing himself safe from molestation 
by the Americans. 

Clark was a man of great courage and endurance, 
and when he wanted, men to accompany him on the ter- 
rible trip against the English through the heavy snows 
and cold winds, the men under him proved their valor 
by accompanying him. Through the deep drifts, fight- 
ing their way against the storms of winter, wading for 
days at a time through icy cold streams, this band of 
heroic men struggled in the defense of their country 
and flag. Only Clark's indomitable courage and cheer- 
fulness kept the party encouraged to overcome the 
tremendous difficulties. He inspired his men with his 
example, and they took up the trail with increased 
vigor. 

—387— 



HERO TALES 



At last, on the twenty-third day of February, in 
1779, _they came in sight of Vincennes. On the out- 
skirts of the village, they captured a Creole duck- 
hunter, and sent him with a message to the Creole 
townspeople and Indians, warning them that he was 
about to attack the town, but that his quarrel was with 
the English, not the others. 

The message threw the terrified Creoles and Indians 
into a panic, the latter fleeing to the woods, while the 
former took refuge in their homes. 

Up the street, marched the tall, stalwart leader and 
his loyal followers. Through the town they passed to 
the fort at the end of the village. 

^^What could this meanf wondered the British. 
* * Could those men have braved the fury of the winter, 
to attack the fortified townT' 

Before they had time to answer the question them- 
selves, a bullet fired from the band of trappers con- 
firmed the suspicion of the Britons, and there was a 
rush to close the great gate of the besieged fort, to keep 
the invaders out. With a crash the gate swung to, in 
the face of the Americans. 

Clark surrounded the fort with his men and kept the 
British penned in all night. The next day a party of 
Indians, allies of the British, arrived, and marched up 
to the fort ; in their belts were scalps of white men and 
women. The Americans, concealed from view, recog- 
nized these horrible trophies of the chase. "With gleam- 
ing eyes and bodies drawn taut with horror, they gave 
their battle-cry and rushed upon the red men. They 
were in no mood to show mercy. Eifles cracked, knives 
gleamed in the light, and the Americans set furiously 
upon the treacherous savages. The battle did not last 
long, and when the frontiersmen drew off, there was 
not an Indian surviving. 

—388— 



THE SURVEYOR 



For some time the English defended well their ] 

position in the fort, but they were at the mercy of the \ 

American riflemen, who, with accurate aim, picked off : 

the gunners of the fort. So sure was the fire of these ; 

trappers, hunters, frontiersmen and soldiers, that the i 

British did not dare go near the port-holes, to answer j 

the fire, and the fort was forced to surrender. : 

George Eogers Clark and his band of one hundred j 

and sixty loyal followers, overcoming almost insur- \ 

mountable obstacles and enduring the most frightful j 

suffering, had defeated the larger force of British sol- ' 

diers, and reclaimed the great Middle "West for the ^ 

young republic, the United States of America. 



"Up with the banner of the free! 
Its stars and stripes unfurled! 
And let the battle beauty blaze 
Above a startled world. 

"That flag with constellated stars 
Shines ever in the van! 
And like the rainbow in the storm, 
Presages peace to man. 

"It seeks no conquest, knows no fear; 
Cares not for pomp or state; 
As pliant as the atmosphere, 
As resolute as Fate. 

"Where'er it floats, on land or sea, 
No stain its honor mars, 
And Freedom smiles, her fate secure 
Beneath its steadfast stars." 



—389— 



THE TALE OF THE FLOOD THAT RACED 
WITH THE HORSEMAN OF CONEM AUGH 



This is the tale of a flood 
that swept down a peaceful valleyj-upon a city un- 
awares, in a life and death race with a horseman who cried 
to his people to flee to the safety of the hills, while the waters 
licked at the feet of his horse and finally engulfed him In their rage. 

IT WAS the last day of May, in the year 1889. The 
city of Johnstown, in western Pennsylvania, lay 
on the bank of the Conemangh Eiver, near its 
junction with the Ohio, one of the main tributaries 
of the mighty Mississippi. The surrounding country 
is rough and mountainous. Behind the city high hills 
range, seemingly trying to push the town into the 
river. 

It had been raining for days and the Conemaugh 
was swollen, and rushing by the piers of the city at a 
fearful rate of speed. The people of Johnstown had 
often seen the river during the Spring freshets, as it 
poured down from the mountains, and seldom gave 
serious thought to its swirling waters. 

On the banks and on the hills of the city, a few anxious 
people gazed in awe at the dashing water, and, when 
supper-time approached, and dusk began to settle over 
the town, they could not tear themselves away from the 
fascinating sight. 

To their ears suddenly came a sound, unlike any- 
thing thev had ever heard before. Far up the valley 

—390— 



THE FLOOD 



they could see a dark shape, one end of it seeming to 
run ahead of the other, and then to lag behind, as th» 
other end leaped forward and overtook its companion. 
The upper side of this curious, irregular object wae 
jagged, and covered with little square specks, tossing^ 
about in the gloom. 

With rising curiosity, they watched the unusual 
sight as it came nearer and near their town. The new« 
spread and soon the hills were crowded with people, 
straining their eyes, trying to make out the tossing 
shapes, which were coming down the valley. 

Suddenly, a boy in the crowd cried out : 

^'Houses.'* 

The spell was broken. A look of horror settled over 
the faces of the dazed crowd of people. Far down the 
road, from the village of Conemaugh to Johnstown, a 
vague shape appeared out of the dusk, rising and fall- 
ing with the regularitj^ of a pendulum. Soon the people 
could make out the figure of a man astride a great, bay 
horse, riding in desperation. To their ears came a 
faint cry. He seemed to be calling, but he was too far 
away to be understood. Again he screamed as if in 
mortal agony. This time the words echoed along the 
valley : 

^^Run for your lives! Run for your lives! The 
dam has broken ! ' ^ 

Understanding came to the bewildered throng. The 
giant dam of the South Fork Fishing Club, far back in 
the hills, had broken, and down through the narrow 
valley, like a thousand demons mad with rage, rushed 
millions of tons of water. Like a gigantic broom, it 
was sweeping towns, cities, and villages into the fearful 
torrent. Nearer and nearer came the high wall of 
water, crowned by masses of wreckage; houses, huge 
trees, beams, and human beings. 

—391— 



HERO TALES 



Through the streets of Johnstown, the horseman 
dashed, shouting in his mighty voice : * * Run, the dam 
has broken. Get up into the hills for your lives.'* 

On he rode, spreading his warning, the hideous flood 
lapping at his heels, and gaining on the heroic rider at 
every stride. Then, in an instant he passed out of the 
sight of the horror-stricken populace. 

In the onrushing flood were to be seen, giant logs 
and trees ; great masses of wreckage were thrown high 
in the air, the remains of dwellings and workshops — 
all moving with an awful steadiness, resistless as fate, 
toward the doomed Johnstown. 

The distant rumbling grew louder and louder. Then, 
with a mighty roar the flood reached the city, on and 
over the tops of its roofs, devouring all that lay in its 
path like a gaping monster. High on the crest of the 
mighty mass of water, crashing and grinding, it carried 
the homes of the people of the valley. 

The awful mass thundered by ; presently it seemed 
to slacken its terrible pace. It had reached the Johns- 
town stone bridge, over the Conemaugh River, which 
withstood nobly the shock and pressure of the awful 
weight of water. Firm as a rock it stood, holding back 
the churning, crushing mass of wreckage. For two 
long hours the flood raged and beat against the bridge, 
striving to push it from its foundations, and continue 
on its way down the valley to complete its deadly work. 
But the stone bridge, majestic in its strength, resisted 
the attack, and soon the swollen river subsided and 
resumed its normal condition, but not until it had taken 
its awful toll of eight thousand human lives and prop- 
erty valued at many millions of dollars. 

Presently, in some mysterious way, the jam at the 
bridge caught fire. The dazed survivors of the awful 
flood, already nearly overwhelmed by rush of the 

—392— 



THE FLOOD 



destructive waters, further suffered in the sight of the 
flames that began to lick at the wreckage. In that mass 
behind the bridge were many that were dear to them: 
mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. As the flames 
eagerly leaped from point to point, agonized cries rent 
the night, and despairing prayers were offered to God 
in Heaven. 

Down in that cauldron of burning wreckage, with 
the host of other dead, lay the body of a hero of the 
truest mould, the horseman who had dashed ahead of 
the raging torrent, crying out his warnings to the peo- 
ple of the Conemaugh valley, saving thousands of lives, 
and who, even when the flood threatened to overtake 
him, still kept on his errand of mercy until, just as he 
was turning to cross the stone bridge to safety, the 
enraged flood caught him and his gallant horse and 
hurled them into the chaos together. 

The man perished, but his memory will live forever 
in the memory of the people of western Pennsylvania, 
and the hearts of the survivors will thrill at the men- 
tion of the name of the man who sacrificed his life to 
save theirs — the heroic horseman of the Johnstown 
flood. — Daniel Perriton. 



*To a man is given but once to die, 

Though the flood break forth he will raise his cry 

For the thousands there in the town. 
At least, some child may be saved by his voice, 
Some lover may still in the sun rejoice, 
Some man that has fled, when he wins his breath, 
Shall bless the rider who rode thro' death. 

For his fellows' life gave his own. 

'And the man who saw the end of the race, 
Saw a darli, dead horse, and a pale dead face. 
Did they hear Heaven's great 'Well done'?" 



■393- 




THE TALE OF THE SCOUT'S SISTER 
WHO WAS HELD CAPTIVE 



This is the taie of a scout's sister 
whose bravery on the American frontier, before great 
cities had arisen in the Middle West, saved the friends of 
her brother and rescued herself from an Indian tribe where she 
had been held captive ten years. It is a tale of woman's fortitude. 

IT WAS in the fall of 1790. General Wayne's 
command was guarding the valley of the Ohio. 
There were signs of unrest among the Indians of 
the great dominion that the new nation was 
arousing from its long slumbers. 

**I think/* said the general to two of his men, 
McLellan and White, *^that you had better keep a 
scouting party on the outposts. I feel as if there was 
going to be trouble." 

The scouts, with several others, started out into 
the wilderness and made their way to the top of Mount 
Pleasant, where they had a clear lookout into the valley 
along the Hocking Eiver and the neighboring plains. 

They stored carefully away the rations they had 
brought, for they expected to be stationed there many 
days. 

Their post was rather inaccessible, being reached 
only by the way of a thickly wooded, narrow path. 
Twelve feet distant, across a deep crevasse, was another 
ridge, quite as high as Mount Pleasant. An Indian 
skilled in the art, could easily leap the distance, but sure 

—394— 



THE SCOUT»S SISTER 



death awaited the one who missed his footing in making 
the leap. Feeling quite secure in their lofty hiding- 
place, the scouts kept a constant outlook for the savages. 
At last, in the distance, the Indians could be seen 
approaching. They camped at the very foot of the 
precipice, unconscious that above them were two of 
their hated enemies, who were listening to their boasts 
of the day's depredations and murders, as they gath- 
ered about their camp-fires. 

The scouts tarried here many days, their ears and 
eyes constantly alert for the dangers that surrounded 
them. They found caves and thickets in which they 
hid when the Indians made their way up the mountain 
side. The food lasted well, and the water which they 
found for their use was from the little basins on the 
hilltop ; but a time came when no rain had fallen for 
many days, and the miniature reservoirs were drying 
up. Half way down the mountain-side was a spring; 
but in descending to that spring, they were in danger of 
revealing their presence. To do that, they were sure 
was certain death. The Indians, constantly on the 
move, threaded their way in and out of the woods on 
the hillside, like so many serpents. 

The need of water was at length so great that they 
felt they must make the attempt to reach the spring. 
McLellan slipped down to the spot and returned with- 
out being detected. Soon the supply that he brought 
was exhausted and then White volunteered to go. He 
reached the spring in safety, and was about to make the 
ascent when, to his terror, he detected a slight move- 
ment in a nearby thicket. 

Instantly two squaws came plainly to view. The 
older woman gave a yelp, which the scout knew was an 
alarm. He threw down the canteens that he might be 
unencumbered. 

—395— 



HERO TALES 



He thought quickly : ' ' The only way of escape is to 
hush those women forever.'^ 

His only weapon was a rifle and a report from that 
would immediately put the red-men on his track. 
White was strong and muscular from his life on the 
frontier. 

Looking hurriedly about him, he grasped the squaws 
by the arms and dragged them to the spring, where he 
succeeded in getting them into the water. One of them 
was soon drowned, but the younger one resisted his 
efforts more strenuously than the other. 

^ ' Oh, sir, ' ' she cried, ' ^ I am a white woman. Don't, 
don't !'* 

White scanned her face. 

**For my sake,'' she begged. ^^Take me to the 
settlements with you!" 

**I am not going to the settlements," he said. *^I 
am a scout. I am stationed here in the mountains." 

*^Let me go with you there, then," she implored in 
tears. 

White saw the look of honesty in her sad face and 
saved her. They climbed to the spot where McLellan 
was waiting anxiously. They had nearly reached the 
summit when the savage cries of a hundred enraged 
Indians floated to their ears. 

* * You have done this, ' ' exclaimed McLellan. ' * Now 
you must save us ! " 

**Go back to the Indians and tell them you made 
your escape from the white men ! " he ordered. ' ' There 
is no chance for you here." 

**I have lived with them ten years," said the girl 
impatiently. ^^They took my father's life, and mother 
and all my brothers and sisters, except one, who was 
called Eli. He escaped and they took me captive. I 
will not go back to them! I hate them!" 

—396— 



THE SCOUT^S SISTER 



McLellan was impressed with the name of the 
brother who escaped. He seemed to recollect some one 
of that name. He questioned her more closely and 
found that her brother was Eli Washburne, who was 
one of General Wayne's scouts in the same garrison. 

^^Let me stay,'' she pleaded, ^^I can shoot, and 
will help you — look— look, there they come now." 

There were only two ways of approach; one from 
the wooded trail and the other the leap across the 
crevasse. One after another the red-men appeared in 
the open, ready for an attack, and just as rapidly a 
sharp report from the white men's rifles sent them life- 
less into the chasms below. 

The savages were now rapidly approaching from 
both sides. White stood guard at the wooded path. 
McLellan raised his rifle to the bold warrior who was 
about to leap the chasm. 

Suddenly, McLellan 's face turned pale. The old 
flint-lock had failed him. As he pulled the trigger of 
his gun, the barrel was silent, but to his amazement, the 
Indian at whom he was aiming threw up his hands and 
fell headlong into the gulf below. Thinking that White 
had sent the fatal shot, he turned to locate his partner, 
when there was another sharp report from the same 
direction. McLellan looked in time to see another red- 
man fall into the depths. Terrified at the fate of their 
leaders, the savages, with a howl of despair, slunk away 
into the woods. Night was approaching and the scouts 
could not decide what their next move should be, know- 
ing that they were closely guarded. 

Strangely, too, the girl had disappeared. 

**She was a spy," exclaimed McLellan. 

At night-fall a soft rustle of the leaves startled 
them. Instantly their guns were leveled. The white 
girl stood before them. 

—397— 



HERO TALES 



''Halt,'* cried McLellan. ''Turn back to the red- 
skins ! * ' 

"If I go back they will kill me,'* she answered in 
surprise. ' ' Will you not receive me ? ' ' 

' ' You simply come from them to engage our atten- 
tion while they steal upon us. Go back, for I do not 
want to kill Eli Washburne 's sister. ' ' 

"Trust me,'* pleaded the girl. "I will not betray 
you. It was I who shot the two Indians over there." 
She pointed to the precipice. 

The sincerity of her words and tones impressed 
them, and they consented to keep her. Hope came 
once more into her face — the first ray of hope that she 
had entertained for ten long years. Silently she laid 
plans whereby the three could get safely back to the 
settlements. At length, they fell into a quiet conver- 
sation. They led her to talk of herself, and modestly 
she told of her part in the fight — how, when the first 
Indian appeared in the open and a shot from Mc- 
Lellan 's gun sent him lifeless many feet down the 
mountain-side, she stole cautiously away to his body 
and arming herself with the weapons he could no longer 
use, she made her way back to the ridge where the 
scouts were fighting desperately for their lives. As 
she passed along, she heard the warriors planning 
another way of attack, and the girl went quickly to 
a secluded spot known only to herself. There, un- 
observed, she had a good view of the entire situation. 
She waited until she was sure her assistance was 
needed. The savages, according to their plans, were 
now approaching from the opposite peak. Suddenly, 
like a deer, a warrior dashed to the edge and took the 
leap. She aimed carefully, and the redskin never 
reached the other side, but fell into the darkness below. 
Exultantly she aimed again, for there on the very brink 

—398-^ 



THE SCOUT^S SISTER 



stood ^'Higli Bear/^ the leader of the treacherous band 
who had massacred her family. Sweet was her revenge, 
for *'High Bear'' met the fate of the redskin who had 
preceded him. As the savages retreated, she kept 
closely to her hiding-place and only dared to creep out 
when dusk had settled over the land. 

^*This,'' she explained, ^^has been the cause of my 
disappearance. ' ' 

The scouts were much impressed by her story, and 
listened to the scheme which she had formed for their 
escape. .When darkness wrapped the little village 
below in peace and quiet, the party ate the scanty 
rations that were left, and planned to descend the moun- 
tain under cover of the night. It would be impossible 
for them to do so any other time without being dis- 
covered. 

Miss Washburne was to be their guide, for in the 
ten years that she had roamed through these plains and 
mountains, she had become well acquainted with ^Hhe 
lay of the land.'' Thoughtfully she looked out over 
the valley. Here and there the warm camp-fires 
glowed in the darkness. Vivid memories of the scenes 
around those fires made her sick at heart. She must 
escape and be free from the bondage of the savages. 
Determination fired her soul. When the glow had died 
away and nothing but smoldering embers could be seen, 
she knew that the village was slumbering. 

* ' Follow me, ' ' she exclaimed. 

The scouts crept along the trail. All the cunning 
and craft that she had learned from the Indians came 
to her aid. At a point near the base of the mountain, 
she commanded them to wait quietly until she should 
return. Soon they could hear her talking to a redskin. 

''I have just got two sentinels out of the way," she 
exclaimed, returning. ^'Now we can go on. We must 

—399— 



HERO TALES 



go through the very heart o^he village, though, for 
every other path is strictly guarded. If we are very 
careful, there will be no danger, for they will not sus- 
pect me." 

As they passed along the route that she had chosen, 
there were no signs of life until the ever-present dogs 
dutifully gave the alarm. Drowsy squaws, awakened 
by the tumult, thrust their heads out of the tepees to 
see what had caused it. Fearlessly, the girl passed 
on, speaking a hurried word to the animals, and 
answering the questioners in their own tongue. Well 
satisfied that the intruder was not a stranger, they 
retired to their slumbers. The scouts, who had fallen 
back into the deep shadows, came forth reassured, and 
again took up their march. 

At last they passed out of the village into the dense 
forest. They quickened their steps, for there was now 
no danger of being heard. They journeyed in this way 
until the noon of the next day, when they felt sure that 
pursuit was outdistanced. 

A few hours later the two missing scouts, who had 
been almost given up for dead, entered the lines of 
General Wayne's camp with the strange white girl. 

The soldiers called for Eli Washburne, and the 
sister, who had been snatched from savagery, after ten 
years of ^* living death,'' was restored to her brother. 

The courage of the girl greatly impressed the 
gallant General Wayne. 

The Indians, enraged at the loss of their white 
captive, and knowing that the ** white squaw" would 
reveal their secrets and movements, abandoned their 
proposed massacres. 

It was in this way that the young American girl, 
after years of suffering, almost beyond human endur- 
ance, saved her people from cruel bloodshed. 

LOO— 




THE TALE OF THE FIREMEN WHO 
SAVE GREAT CITIES 



This is the tale of a fire sergeant 
who made a bridge of his body, across which the imper- 
illed were led to safety. It is a tale of men who spend their 
lives in the protection of their fellowmen, and who, as you read 
these lines, are fighting a demon worse than war, the ravages of fire. 

IN GEEAT cities, like New York, the rush and clang 
of the fire-engines sends the chill of fear through 
the hearts of the householder. In the crowded 
districts, where thousands of people are often 
huddled together in the same block of tenements, there 
is no more dreadful sound than the roar and rattle of 
the fire department. 

At about three o 'clock on a cold Sunday morning in 
February, 1892, the fire alarm in No. 3 Patrol Station 
boomed out its warning to the watching firemen. Down 
the brass poles they slid in an instant, and were on the 
engines and tenders rolling out through the broad door- 
ways in less than two minutes from the first alarm. Up 
the street they raced, skilfully avoiding obstructions. 
The firemen, hastily buttoning their coats about them 
and settling their helmets firmly on their heads, pre- 
pared to fight one of New York 's worst enemies. Ahead 
of them could be seen the ruddy glow of fire, and soon 
they were in front of the blazing Hotel Royal. 

From the windows, men and women were jumping 
and falling to the hard pavement below ; escape by the 

—401— 



HERO TALES 



stairs was cut off by the fierce flames, and choked with 
smoke. Finding entrance to the burning hotel impos- 
sible, the firemen dashed to an adjoining building, led 
by the heroic sergeant, John E. Vaughan, of the New 
York Fire Department. Up the stairs they rushed. 
Through a window they could see many people in the 
next building, the blazing hotel, with resignation firm 
on their faces, ready to give up and be dashed to the 
courtyard below. Vaughan swung out of the window 
while his men grasped one of his legs, and the other 
was braced in wires on the side of the building, in- 
sulated, but loaded within with deadly electricity. 
Fearlessly, he flung himself across the yawning chasm 
to the window across the way. He grasped the window- 
ledge, and three men and a woman walked across his 
body — a living bridge — to safety. 

Again, these brave men started on their errand of 
mercy. Up to the roof of the building they ran. The 
smoke was so dense they could hardly see, but through 
it they heard a cry for help, and made out the shape of 
a man standing on the window-sill of the fifth story of 
the burning building, overlooking the courtyard of the 
hotel. The yard was between them, and the man was 
beyond reach. Bidding his men follow him, Vaughan 
ran down the stairs and around into the next street, to 
the roof of the house that formed an angle with the 
hotel wing. There stood the man but a jump away, but 
a jump that no mortal man could take and survive. His 
hands and face were sooty with smoke, and no one could 
tell whether he was white or black. Calm and motion- 
less, he stood in the window against the background of 
hissing, roaring flames. He saw the firemen across the 
courtyard. 

''It is no use,'' he said. ''Don't try. You can't 
doit." 

—402— 



THE FIREMEN 



The sergeant, undaunted, looked about him. Not 
a stick or a piece of rope was in sight. 

*^I can^t give up,'' he cried to his comrades. '^I can't 
leave that man, standing there so brave and quiet. ' ' 

Calling to the man sharply, he said, ^ ^ I want you to 
do exactly as I tell you now. Don't grab me, but let me 
get the first grab." 

*^ Don't try," urged the man. **You cannot save 
me. I will stay here until it gets too hot, and then I will 
jump. ' ' 

*^No, you won't," said the sergeant, as he lay at 
full length on the roof, looking over at the apparently 
doomed man. ^'It is a pretty hard yard down there. 
I will get you or go dead myself." 

The firemen sat on the daring sergeant's legs to hold 
him as he swung out over the abyss, almost but not quite 
able to reach the imperilled man. The man on the ledge 
watched the efforts of the brave sergeant, and at the 
command, '^Now jump — quick!" he hurled himself 
through the dense smoke, straight at the swinging fire- 
man. Their fingers clutched. Could the sergeant 
keep his hold on the swinging figure ? The strain was 
terrific. One hand loosened its hold to grasp the coat 
collar of the man. Then it held firm. 

**Pull !" cried Yaughan, and the firemen tugged and 
hauled with might and main, yet still Vaughan's body 
did not move, as it hung over the edge of the roof with 
a weight of two hundred and three pounds suspended 
from him and holding him down. With agony in their 
faces and cold sweat streaming from their pores, the 
men pulled and tugged on, never gaining an inch. 
Blood burst from the nostrils of the fireman as he clung 
to his burden, sixty feet above the merciless pavement. 
'Flames and lurid smoke were swirling about tliem^ 
singeing the hair and clothing of the swinging bodies. 

—403— 



HERO TALES 



Gathering his fast-waning strength in one last tremen- 
dous effort, the heroic sergeant swung the hanging 
man back and forth like a pendulum ; wider and wider 
they swung. A smothered order warned the firemen 
on the roof of their chief's intention. Without loosen- 
ing their hold, they worked their way to the edge of the 
roof, and watched with staring eyes the human pendu- 
lum, swinging below. Farther and farther the bodies 
swung until, with a mighty heave, the brave fireman 
had swung the man within reach of the waiting men. 
They seized his coat and dragged him onto the roof, 
and then they lay there, breathless, sightless, their faces 
turned to the sky. From the street below came the 
tumult of the fighting firemen ; the spray from the hose 
below fell upon them, froze, and covered them with ice. 

The sergeant was the first to recover his self- 
possession. Picking up the still unconscious form of 
the man whom he had snatched from the flames, he 
carried him to the waiting ambulance in the street 
below. 

Despite his fearful experience. Sergeant Vaughan 
summoned his remaining strength, and back into the 
fire he went to fight like a demon until it was overcome 
and subdued. When the recall was sounded, the brave 
man was found unconscious — ^his almost superhuman 
labors had been too much for even his wonderful con- 
stitution. It was late in the Spring before he was able 
to return to his post to continue his noble efforts for the 
saving of property and life. 



'Not only for the present, 

But all the Bloody Past, 
Oh, strike for all the martyrs 
That have their hour at last.' 

—404— 




THE TALE OF THE NURSE WHO BECAME 
THE "ANGEL OF THE BATTLEFIELD" 



This is the tale of a nurse 
who, when a great war fell upon her beloved land, gave 
up her occupation and went to the battlefield where she nninis- 
tered tenderly to the dying, and brought a wonnan's love to the suf- 
fering and sunshine and kindness to a great world of anguish and gloom. 

IN THE little town of Oxford, in Massachusetts, in 
the year 1821, a daughter came to bless the home 
of a soldier who had served with distinction 
throughout the American Eevolution. She was 
a frail little mite, and considerable doubt was enter- 
tained as to her chance of reaching maturity. She 
grew through the days of childhood, however, and 
reached womanhood, a delicate, loval3le girl, whose 
chief attraction was a sympathetic nature that made 
her anxious to devote her time and energy in behalf of 
those who were sick or injured. Early in life, she be- 
came a school teacher, but gave this vocation up and 
went to work in a shop, only to return to teaching after 
a short time. 

The rumors of the Civil War agitated the land. 
The Union troops, marching through the streets of 
Baltimore, had been set upon by a mob. Word had 
been received in Washington that a train-load of 
wounded would soon reach the city. Among those who 
had gathered at the station as the train rolled in w^s 
the delicate little school-mistress from New England, 

—405— 



HERO TALES 



who had made a failure of teaching and was now a clerk 
in the patent office. 

Touched by the suffering of the wounded soldiers, 
the young woman stepped forward and volunteered her 
services. Nurses at this time were scarce, and she was 
put to work at once in caring for the first wounded in 
the war. 

The Baltimore victims soon recovered or were sent 
to their homes, but by the time the services of the volun- 
teer nurse were no longer required, the war was raging 
in all its fury. From every army in the field came the 
cry for nurses. Surgeons there were in plenty, but 
hundreds were dying who might have been saved by 
proper care. From the front came the urgent plea: 
' ' Send us female nurses. Women who will care for the 
wounded as only women can. ' ' 

The appeal went straight to the heart of the little 
woman from New England. She endeavored to 
arouse the women of the capital to the urgency of the 
situation. She appealed to their loyalty, to their 
patriotism, to their sympathy, to their love for those 
who were serving at the front, but her efforts were in 
vain. The women regarded with horror the very 
thought of going to the front, and of witnessing and 
still more of participating in the heartrending scenes 
of the battlefields. None had the courage to volunteer. 

Finally, despairing of securing volunteers, the New 
England woman exclaimed: ^^I will go alone!'' She 
lacked the money, stores, and other requirements that 
were necessary to make her ministry a success, but thi^ 
did not discourage her, and she immediately set about 
securing them. 

**I will receive stores and money for wounded sol- 
diers at the front," she proclaimed everywhere. *^I 
will undertake to distribute them in person. ' ' 

t06— 



THE NURSE 



The newspaper echoed her words, and so generous 
were the responses from all parts of the country that it 
became necessary to secure a warehouse in Washington 
where the stores could be kept. Then, taking such sup- 
plies and provisions as she could, she set out for the 
headquarters of the Army of the James. 

Thus started, she continued her ministry to the sick 
and wounded throughout the Civil War. From field to 
field she went, through the long and bloody campaigns, 
carrying cheer to the wounded and consolation to the 
dying. 

Wherever she appeared, she brought comfort to the 
men of the army, until her name was known and rev- 
erenced in every camp in the Union army. When the 
brunt of the conflict fell on the Army of the Potomac, 
she left the headquarters of the Army of the James to 
go to the post where she was most needed. With the 
Army of the Potomac she went through many hard and 
bitter campaigns. 

At the terrible battle of Antietam, she performed a 
wonderful service, ministering to thousands of wounded 
and dying. Hundreds of last messages to the loved 
ones at home were entrusted to her by dying soldier 
boys, and they were unfailingly delivered. Utterly dis- 
regarding her personal safety, she went among the 
wounded on the field, carrying aid to those who most 
needed it, gentle and skillful in her care of all who came 
under her hand, and apparently tireless in her efforts. 

On other fields, she served as heroically. At the 
battle of the Wilderness, she was present, carrying on 
her work of mercy on the very firing lines. At Fred- 
ericksburg, she was also on the field on her mission of 
mercy. At Cedar Mountain, at the second battle of 
Bull Run, and many others, she was a ministering angel 
to tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands of dol- 

—407— 



HERO TALES 



lars' worth of clothing, supplies, and medicines that 
were donated to her noble work, were distributed among 
the soldiers. 

At the close of the war, the frail little woman re- 
turned to her home for rest. But her rest was short. 
Soon came the word that the French and the Prussians 
were at war, and that nurses were needed on the battle- 
fields. It mattered not to her that these were not her 
countrymen — they needed help, and that was enough. 
She went abroad, and throughout the Franco-Prussian 
war carried on a work of mercy that won her the love 
and honor of the whole continent. _ 

Eeturning home, she set about organizing the Amer- 
ican Eed Cross, and for years its great work for suffer- 
ing humanity grew and broadened, under the untiring 
and devoted leadership of this little New England 
school-mistress, whom the Civil War veterans still love 
to call *^The Soldiers' Friend," and ^^The Angel of the 
Battlefields'' — the noble Clara Barton. 



*Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs 

The air to-day, our love is hers! 

She needs no guaranty of fame 

Whose own is linked with Freedom's name. 

Long ages after ours shall keep 

Her memory living while we sleep; 

The waves that wash our gray coast lines, 

The winds that rock the Southern pines, 

Shall sing of her; the unending years 

Shall tell her tale in modern ears. 

And when, with sins and follies past, 

Are numbered color-hate and caste. 

White, black, and red shall own as one 

The noblest work by woman done." 



—408— 



THE TALE OF THE FUGITIVE BOY IN 
THE AMERICAN WILDERNESS 



This is the tale of a runaway lad 
whose conscience drove him from home and friends 
into the hardships and wilds of a savage land where he saved 
the life of a great frontiersman. It is a tale of the adventures in the 
American wilderness when daring men were pushing civilization forward. 

IN" a little village in Virginia, there was a lad 
living quietly with his parents on a plantation. 
Like all the boys of the time, he was skilled in the 
use of the rifle and other weapons of warfare, for 
it was hardly safe to wander far from the protection of 
the settlements because of the Indians who were bitter 
enemies to the white men. 

At the age of sixteen, this boy was face to face with 
his first great difficulty. He loved a fair-haired girl in 
the village. This was not all — one of his boyhood com- 
panions loved her, too. Now, had the young lady had 
an honest mind of her own the suffering of many hearts 
would have been saved. In her gay, fickle way, she 
seemed to enjoy the rivalry of her lovers, without 
understanding that to play with hearts is as dangerous 
as it is cruel. 

** Settle it for yourselves," she said coquettishly. 

This, indeed, was a challenge. The two lads met in 

the fields, and, after a few words, engaged in a hot 

fight with their fists. One of them fell to the ground 

in the scrimmage. His companion spoke to him. There 

—409— 



HERO TALES 



was no answer. Seized with terror, this boy secreted 
himself in the woods. An awful fear dawned npon 
him, and he fled farther and farther into the mountains. 
His heart was broken. He mnst forever remain a 
hunted fugitive in the wilderness. He could never 
again look into the faces of loved ones at home. Fate 
had i)icked him for her own, and from that hour he was 
to pay the severe penalty that conscience always exacts. 

^'Even my name is dangerous to me,'^ he said to 
himself. *'I must not disgrace my family. My name 
from now on must be ^ Simon Butler. ' ' ' 

Simon found that he was not to be often alone in his 
travels, for the country was haunted by explorers and 
adventurers. He at last selected two companions, one 
of them named Yager, who had been a captive among 
the Indians from his childhood. Yager had faint 
memories of his early home, and to the boy it seemed a 
veritable paradise. So vivid was his description of 
this *^Kantuck-ee'' land, to be reached by means of the 
Ohio River, that it was a sort of Mecca to the wander- 
ing boys, and they decided to go to this great, new 
country. 

Yager was the guide, and for many days the three 
canoed down the river. Finally they became discour- 
aged. There was no sign of the longed-for Utopia, and 
believing that Yager had recollected wrongly, they 
returned to Virginia and settled there for a period of 
two years, hunting and trapping. 

One night, without the slightest warning, their 
camp was attacked by the Indians. Simon and Yager 
made their escape, but the man who was with them gave 
up his life. Thrust once more into the wilderness, they 
found that in their fight they had left all their worldly 
goods behind them. They traveled along at random 
for five days, feeding on roots that they dug on their 

—410— 



THE FUGITIVE BOY 



way. At the end of the fifth day, they came to the banks 
of the Ohio Eiver. They met trappers who gave them 
some food, a gun and ammunition. 

''I know what I will do,'' thought Simon. ^'I will 
join the army and fight for my country. ' ' 

He made his way alone through the forest, and was 
soon in the ranks of Governor Dunmore's army. He 
felt easier when under the protection of the American 
flag, which he loved. His faithfulness to duty greatly 
impressed his commanding officer. Simon was given 
many heroic tasks. As a spy, he risked his life hourly 
and performed his duty with wonderful bravery. 

At the close of the war, when his comrades had 
broken ranks, Simon began to long again for the "land 
of paradise," described by his former friend Yager. 
He found two others to go with him, and, after a long 
and tedious journey, they pitched camp where Wash- 
ington, Kentucky, now stands. Here they lived quietly 
for some time, but finally had an encounter with the red- 
skins, and, after a narrow escape, they fled from the 
vicinity. A few days later found Simon in historic 
Boonesborough, the fort on the very brink of the 
American frontier, where the bravest men of the time 
were pushing back the Indians and pushing forward the 
flag of civilization. 

It was during this period in Boonesborough that 
Simon performed one of his most heroic feats. Some 
white men at work in the field were attacked by savage 
foes, and Boone and Simon, with about a dozen other 
men, rushed to their rescue. The *^ white chief," as 
Boone was called, was overpowered and pinned to the 
ground with a tomahawk raised over his head. Boone 
thought that his end had come at last. Simon, always 
alert, took in the situation. Like a panther, his willowy, 
young body sprang to the side of his leader. 

—411— 



HERO TALES 



The Indian fell back without a groan. Taking the 
body of Boone in his strong, young arms, Simon car- 
ried it safely to the fort. 

Maddened by their defeat, the Indians became more 
savage than ever. Dearly they would have loved to 
see the body of that cool and courageous young com- 
mander, who had brought dismay to their hearts, lying 
before them, stripped of life. 

Within the fort a pathetic scene was enacted. Boone 
was a man of great action and few words. He sent for 
Simon. The two men looked into each other's eyes. 
If Boone had never spoken a word, Simon would have 
understood the world of gratitude in his heart, but 
Boone did speak. Impressed with the bravery of the 
man before him, he quite forgot his accustomed taci- 
turnity, and uttered these words, unpolished, but full of 
meaning : 

''Well, Simon, you have behaved yourself like a 
man to-day. Indeed, you are a fine fellow.'* 

The youth was overcome by these simple sentences. 
Those few words meant more to him, coming from this 
famous pioneer, than all the flowery and flattering 
speeches of history. 

It was some time later that Boone was leading an 
expedition against an Indian village. Simon and some 
of his companions set out to secure some of the enemy's 
splendid horses, which they had seen grazing on the 
hillsides. In this attempt they were discovered, and 
in making their escape they took different directions 
for safety. Simon started for the river, but was over- 
taken, and was obliged to surrender to the foe. All 
chance of escape was now gone. Poor Simon was 
lashed securely to the wildest horse that the savages 
could find, and moccasins were placed on his hands, 
rendering him absolutely helpless. 

-412— 



THE FUGITIVE BOY 



^^ You steal Injun hoss again? Injun got heap good 
boss — you steal some? Long-knife like Injun hoss. 
Long-knife on Injun hoss now — but he no steal/' 

The lad was taken and tied to a stake. Twigs were 
placed at his feet. The Indians were about to ignite 
them when there suddenly appeared a strange charac- 
ter, known as Simon Girty. 

**T\Tiat is your nameT' 

*^ Simon Butler/' muttered the suffering youth. 
Instantly Girty was a changed man. He had heard of 
Simon's heroic rescue of Boone, and many of his other 
daring exploits. He approached the prisoner and 
embraced him tenderly. He then pleaded with the 
savages, who were waiting expectantly, to spare this 
noted warrior. At first there was great dissent, but 
with much pleading Girty succeeded in saving Simon 
from the stake. 

The Indians would listen to no more ; they still held 
Simon captive. Impressed by the manliness and 
soldierly bearing of the youth, his rescuer encouraged 
him by saying : 

*^ Don't be discouraged. I am a great chief. You 
are to go to Sandusky. They speak of burning you 
there, but I will send two runners there to-morrow to 
speak good of you." 

True to his word, the messengers were sent out, and 
Simon, consumed with anxiety, awaited their return. 
At length they came, and evidently the great chief had 
overrated his power, for the reports were unfavorable, 
and the next day Simon was marched to Sandusky. 

At Sandusky, a powerful and unexpected ally 
appeared in the person of Captain Drewyer, a French 
Canadian, in the service of the British government as 
their Indian agent. He told the Indians that this man 
possessed a knowledge of the settlements in Kentucky 

—413— 



HERO TALES 

^ 



that was of great value to the Commandant, then at 
Detroit. By dint of much artful persuasion, the Indians 
were induced to loan Simon to the Detroit party until 
he should be of no more use to them. Then he was to 
be returned to them for future purposes. Drewyer 
informed Simon, on the way to Detroit, that he had no 
desire nor intention of passing him back to these 
** brutal animals," and for a period of eight months the 
youth was relieved from his intense mental suffering. 
He dreamed night and day of the old home in the south- 
land. A longing to go back filled his young soul with 
impatience, and he could hardly endure the ties that 
held him captive. 

He planned to escape. Two other Kentuckians 
were also in bondage there. They traded with the 
Indians for guns. One dark night they managed to 
slip into the forest, and the dangerous journey was 
begun. For one month they traveled under cover of 
the night, and hid in the caves and thickets during the 
day. At the end of this time, exhausted and almost 
starved, they entered the strong fortification in old 
Louisville, Kentucky — where the youth, who had saved 
Daniel Boone, was joyfully received. 

It was eleven years since Simon had fled in despair 
from his old home in Virginia. 

One day, while he was again at the front in the 
battle against savagery, on the great Kentucky frontier, 
he was overjoyed to hear a companion mention his old 
home. He made inquiries and spoke the name of his 
sweetheart of boyhood days. 

*^She is still living." 

Then he asked for the lad who had been his rival. 

**Yes, he is still living." 

Simon's heart leaped with emotion. Had all these 
years of torture been only a dream? 

—414— 



THE FUGITIVE BOY 



^'I will go home/' he said, overcome with joy. **I 
am no longer Simon Butler! I am Simon Kenton — 
that is the name of my family and now it is mine. ' * 

The long journey overland, with its frontier hard- 
ships, was only a pleasure to him. Some days later, 
Simon Kenton entered his old home in Virginia, from 
which he had been driven as a mere boy by fear and his 
conscience. His heart-broken mother was overcome 
with emotion. She clasped her boy in her arms and 
wept joyously. Simon Kenton resolved that nothing 
on earth should separate them again, and soon he took 
his father and mother back to Kentucky with him. On 
the way his aged father died, and was buried by the 
mother and son in the wilderness. They continued 
their hard journey and arrived safely on the spot where 
he had opened his first camp in Kentucky many years 
before, and there he founded a settlement. To-day, 
Maysville stands on that site. 

Peace, however, was not yet to come to this brave 
pioneer, even though the Indians were driven back and 
war had ceased upon the border. Land troubles arose^ 
and poor Kenton, because of his lack of knowledge 
regarding legal rights, was pitifully persecuted by the 
speculators. To avoid any further trouble, he moved 
his family over to the wilds of Ohio. There he lived the 
life of a farmer until he reached old age, when mis- 
fortune again overtook him. Claims were laid on the 
land that he had cultivated for so many years, and he 
was obliged to make it all over to others. 

One day on his way to the legislature at Frankfort 
to petition for his rights, he stopped at the home of ^ 
friend. Major Galloway, who, seeing evidence of his 
poverty, did not hesitate to express his indignation that 
the country should allow one of its most valiant servants 
to be reduced to penury in this manner. 

—415— 



HERO TALES 



*^ Don't say that, Galloway, or I will leave your 
house forever, .and never call you friend again,'' said 
the old man, assuming all of his old soldierly bearing. 

When he appeared in the streets of Frankfort 
ridicule met him on every side because his garments 
hung in tatters on his aged frame. When it became 
known, however, that it was Simon Kenton, the man 
who saved Daniel Boone, shame flushed the faces of the 
scoffers, and the old hero was treated with much 
respect. He was presented with a new outfit and was 
conducted to the state capitol, where many honors were 
showered upon him. He was crowned as second only 
to the heroic Boone, and, as he retired, he said : * * This 
has been the proudest day of my life. ' ' 

The venerable hero went back to his home ; his land 
had been returned to him, and there'he lived a peaceful 
life until his death, which occurred in his eighty-first 
year. His body lies near the spot where fifty-eight 
years before he had endured so many tortures at the 
hands of the savages, and had barely escaped death at 
their hands. 



^'Close his eyes; his work is done! 
What to him is friend or foeman, 
Rise of moon, or set of sun, 
Hand of man, or kiss of woman? 

"As man may, he fought his fight, 
Proved his truth by his endeavor; 
Let him sleep in solemn night, 
Sleep forever and forever. 

"Fold him in his country's stars, 
Roll the drum and fire the volley! 
What to him are all our wars, 
What but death bemocking folly? 

"Leave him to God's watching eyes; 
Trust him to the hand that made. 
Mortal love weeps idly by; 
God alone has power to aid him." 

—416-^ 




THE TALE OF THE QUAKERESS WHOSE 
LIPS ALWAYS SPOKE THE TRUTH 



This Is the tale of a Quaker woman 
whose sense of truth and justice had been instilled Into 
her through many generations, but whose love for her country 
led her to reveal the secrets which she had overheard. It Is the 
tale of a woman's ingenuity that saved an army and saved the truth. 

IT WAS in December, in the year 1777. The British 
were occupying Philadelphia, the very seat of the 
Declaration of Independence. In that city lived 
a Mrs. Lydia Darrah, who, with her husband, was 
a member of the Society of Friends. These good folk 
are supposed to possess every virtue to which the 
human frame is heir. The home of the Darrahs was 
directly opposite the headquarters of the British com- 
mander, General Howe. It was probably for this 
reason, and equally also because of the meekness of the 
inmates of this home, that it was often sought by the 
superior officers of the army as a refuge in which their 
most secret conferences could be held without any dan- 
ger of intrusion. 

One day when good Mrs. Darrah swung open the 
door in response to a knock, one of the British com- 
manders entered. He requested that a secluded room 
above might be prepared for his use immediately, as he 
wished to entertain some of his friends in secret con- 
ference. 

**And be sure, Mrs. Darrah," he ordered, *^that 
—417— 



HERO TALES 

^ ^ . 

your family are all in bed at an early hour. I shall 
expect yon to attend to this request. When my guests 
are ready to leave the house, I, myself, will give you 
the signal, and you can let us out.'^ 

**Yea," was the meek little woman's response, in 
her quaint Quaker speech. 

The haste and impatience of the man's commands 
made an unfavorable impression upon Mrs. Darrah's 
mind. Her conscience rebuked her many times that 
day for allowing herself to give the affair a second 
thought, but, try as she would, she could not help feel- 
ing that something important was about to happen. 

Darkness came. Her pious family was safely and 
soundly asleep. There was a faint knock at the door. 
Mrs. Darrah responded. It was the British com- 
mander's guests. She conducted them to their apart- 
ment and then retired to her own room. Then she 
counselled with her own reason. What was this feel- 
ing of coming ill that possessed her? Some especial 
danger must hover over her beloved country, for she 
was a loyal American patriot. Surely there was 
fatality in the night. 

At last, the good woman could resist her forebodings 
no longer. In her stocking-feet, she crept to the door 
of her chamber — all was quiet. Something irresistible 
was drawing her on. She reached the door of the 
officers' room. Breathlessly, she put her ear to the 
keyhole. They were in conversation. She could catch 
but few of the words at first, so low were their tones. 
Finally one of the officers spoke distinctly. He was 
reading an order to attack the American army! 

' ' On the night of , ' ' — the very next 

night. 

Mrs. Darrah waited no longer. She held the secret. 
As she stole back to her chamber, her heart was beating 

—418— 



THE QUAKERESS 



so hard that she had difficulty in calming herself before 
the officer was seeking her to let him out of the house. 

In order to regain her composure, it was necessary 
for her to let him rap once — twice — three times ; then 
it was that a sleepy voice queried: **What dost thee 
desire?" 

**We are ready to go,'' said the officer. *\Will you 
come and open the door!" 

Mrs. Darrah let him wait a few minutes while she 
pretended to dress herself, and, when the party were 
out of the house, she extinguished the lights and fires 
and returned to her chamber. 

The next morning she hurried through her house- 
hold duties. She had a mission to perform. Inform- 
ing her husband only that she was going to the mill for 
flour, she hastened to the British headquarters and 
received a written permission to pass through the lines. 

* * The good Quaker woman ? Of course ! ' ' exclaimed 
the officer. ^^ Allow her to pass unmolested." 

Mrs. Darrah lost no time. Never had she traveled 
those five miles so swiftly before. Beaching the mill, 
she left her order for flour, but her errand was only 
just begun. A secret mission was upon her heart. 
Some hours later she was entering the American lines. 
Her sweet face and earnest manner impressed the 
sentry, and she was directed to the officer. To him she 
imparted her secret. He thanked her profusely. 

^^I will not betray you, my good woman," he said. 
**You need not fear." 

With her heart full of thankfulness, Mrs. Darrah 
hastened back to the mill, and from there pursued her 
homeward way more leisurely. Soon, from her win- 
dow, she could see the British troops departing. Their 
purpose she knew too well. The suspense was almost 
more than she could endure, but she did not retreat 

—419— 



HERO TALES 



from her post until the rumble of the drums amiounced 
the return of the troops several hours afterward. 

At a later hour of the night, there was a knock on 
her door. Her heart beat rapidly, but she composed 
herself, for she realized that the welfare of her family 
depended on her at this critical moment. She lingered 
to strike a light and then made her way to the door. 
There stood the British officer. His face was red with 
anger. 

*^Were any of your family up, madam, on the night 
when I received my company in this house f he 
demanded. 

**Nay!'' was the unhesitating reply. **The dear 
ones retired at eight o'clock. Hath thee trouble?" 

*^It is very strange,'' muttered the officer. 

He hesitated a moment and then added, **I know 
you were asleep, for I knocked three times before you 
heard me. Yet it is certain that we were betrayed, for 
General Washington's army was so well prepared to 
receive us that we were forced to retreat without an 
injury to the enemy." 

The officer left the house. 

**I wish thee well," said Mrs. Darrah, as he 
departed. 

The story of Mrs. Darrah was held by her as a secret 
until the close of the war. Then she revealed it to her 
friends, and it was verified by the information that 
passed through the army, that it was a strange Quaker 
woman who had saved the American army just outside 
of Philadelphia on that cold December night in 1777. 



'Rest, patriot, in thy hillside grave, 
Beside her form who bore thee! 

Long may the land thou diedst to save 
Her bannered stars wave o'er thee!" 

—420— 



THE TALE OF THE NAVAL OFFICER 
WHO BLEW UP HIS SHIP 



This is the tale of a naval officer 
who voluntarily sunk his ship, expecting to lose his 
own life, to bring victory to the American flag under which 
he sailed. It is a tale of modern heroism in war not surpassed 

. by the legends of the ancient Greeks nor the courage of the Romans. 

THE American people were at war with Old 
Spain, once the ruler of the seas and the chief 
power of the earth; the nation that gave the 
world its greatest discoverers; that sent its 
heroes into the uncharted seas; and that first dis- 
covered the Pacific Ocean. The powerful old nation 
that gave to the world the Western Continent. 

The glory of the ancient empire was fading with the 
onrush of the civilization that it had awakened from its 
slumbers. One by one it had lost its possessions and 
been swept from the continent which it discovered, un- 
til now it was making its last heroic stand against the 
American flag down in the waters where three cen- 
turies ago it was the master of all it surveyed. 

It was the night of the third of June, 1898. Two 
fleets of the navies of the Old "World and the New 
World lay in the waters off the coast of Cuba. The 
ships of the Old Civilization were nestled in the harbor 
of Santiago, awaiting an opportunity to make a dash 
for the open sea beyond. The warships of the New 
Civilization lay just off the coast like watch-dogs, 

—421— 



HERO TALES 



guarding the entrance, and anxious to engage the 
enemy in battle. 

On board the American flagship New York, stood 
its officers surveying the situation in the harbor and 
getting a line on the fleet of the enemy. 

^'We must not let them escape/' said one of the 
officers. ^^They must be held there in the harbor. '' 

There was only one particular way of doing it — and 
that was by blockading the harbor. 

*^I'll do it,'' decided a young lieutenant. **It 
will doubtless cost me my life, but I will do it for my 
country. ' ' 

The young navai officer laid his plans before his 
superior officers and begged permission to undertake 
the daring service. The officers understood that he 
would probably never again stand on the deck of a 
ship, but the strategic importance of this movement 
was such, that they accepted his offer. 

It was after midnight. The collier Merrimac lay 
near the flagship of the American fleet. There was a 
stirring of the crews on the slumbering battleships. 
The word had been passed along that one of the most 
hazardous exploits in naval warfare was to take place 
before the break of another day. Men from the ships 
had volunteered their lives with that of the young 
lieutenant, and pleaded to be allowed to accompany 
him on the voyage that they knew meant death. 

'^Cast off," came the order, and the collier Merri- 
mac, loaded with six hundred tons of coal and equipped 
with the most dangerous explosives known to modern 
warfare, slipped out under the shadows of the night, 
bearing less than a dozen men. These heroes had been 
under a fearful strain for many hours and they heaved 
a sigh of relief as the hawser that separated them from 
their expected death, was severed. 

—422— 



THE NAVAL OFFICER 



There were no cheers from the comrades they left 
behind, but in the security of the big battleships every 
heart was with them, and many envied them. 

Stealthily the collier was worked along in the dark- 
ness. The slightest sound meant the awakening of the 
wicked cannon in Fort Morro and the batteries on the 
shore. It was an hour of intense quiet. Even the si- 
lence of the night was like death itself. 

Who can ever tell the feelings of these intrepid 
men? Were they thinking of their dear ones far away 
at home ? 

The little vessel arrived within two thousand yards 
of the forts. The watchers on the decks of the Spanish 
fleet were astounded by the vision. 

^'FuU speed,'' rang out the orders. ^^Full speed 
ahead ! Steady a-starboard ! ' ' 

The astounding impertinence of the Merrimac 
thrilled the Spaniards with bewilderment. 

The great guns belched forth their deadly con- 
tents. Amid the thunder of artillery and a rain of 
steel and bursting shells, the boat with its eight brave 
heroes held on its way, heedless of their danger. 

Grim old Morro on the right growled in fury. 

It was a moment to try the stoutest heart. Cannon 
but a few hundred feet distant, poured out their flames. 
The little Merrimac, stripped of every gun, sped on 
into the horrible storm of death. 

Beyond Morro could be seen the cove. Only a few 
hundred yards more and their duty would be done ! A 
shell directed with precision struck the steering gear. 
The poor little Merrimac shuddered. The momentum 
of the seven-thousand-ton-ship carried them further 
on. The moment of destiny had come. The gallant 
commander issued the fatal order. Murphy from his 
station at the bow dropped the anchor. 



HERO TALES 



**Fire torpedo No. 1,'' came the command. 

There was a muffled report. 

^^Fire torpedo No. 2. '* 

There was no response. 

Then followed rapidly the orders to fire the remain- 
ing four torpedoes. There was but one dull explosion 
in answer. 

The fire of the enemy had destroyed the connections 
of four of the torpedoes. The little injured Merrimac 
was floundering with two breaches in her hull. The 
batteries were hurling their death-dealing shells at the 
undaunted crew of heroes. Calm and determined, they 
watched the tide swing the boat around into position. 

The din was fearful. The batteries on Socapa hill 
were belching forth flames and deadly missiles. 

The Merrhnac swung two-thirds athwart the chan- 
nel. 

The feat was accomplished, the most intrepid act of 
heroism in American naval history. 

The vessel was now rapidly sinking. The crew 
launched and clambered into the small catamaran, a 
partially submerged life raft, which they had brought 
on the Merrimac. 

Spanish reconnoitering boats were now thick about 
them, looking for the survivors. After an hour^s sub- 
mersion, at the break of day, a launch steamed up to the 
wreck of the Merrimac with all curtains drawn and 
not a man visible. It was evident that the heroes cling- 
ing to the life-raft, submerged to their mouths, had 
not been seen. 

^^ Aboard the launch! Is there an officer on board? 
An American officer wishes to speak to him with a view 
to surrendering himself and men as prisoners of war.'' 
The words came as if from the grave. They were from 
the surviving commander of the sunken vessel. 

—424— 



THE NAVAL OFFICER 



Immediately a file of soldiers formed on the deck 
from below with guns. 

''Load! Eeady! Aim!'' came the order from a 
Spanish officer. 

''The miserable cowards are going to shoot us?" 
flashed through the mind of the half-drowned lieu- 
tenant. 

The great Spanish admiral, Cervera, strode the 
deck. His eyes fell upon the crew of the Merrimac, 
begrimed from the fine coal and oil, as they came to the 
surface from the sunken ship. The officer looked with 
astonishment. A wave of admiration swept over the 
Spaniards and the air rang with a spontaneous cheer : 
"Valiente!" Thus are brave_ deeds recognized by 
brave men. 

The Merrimac survivors were in the hands of Ad- 
miral Cervera as prisoners of war. 

The Spaniards were so deeply impressed with this 
act of bravery and heroism that they treated the pris- 
oners with the greatest courtesy. Admiral Cervera 
promptly sent a special officer, under flag of truce, to 
inform Admiral Sampson of their safety. The pris- 
oners were kept confined in Morro Castle for some days, 
when they were removed to a place of greater safety 
and held until exchanged on the seventh of July, 1898. 

On the return of the heroes of the Merrimac to the 
American flagship they were greeted with wildest ex- 
ulation. The national air, "When Johnny comes 
marching home," echoed through the lines. And on 
their return to their native land the American people 
literally rose en masse in homage to the heroes. 

Such is the tale that will ever be known in naval 
history as the heroism of Lieutenant Eichmond Pear- 
son Hobson. 

—425— 




THE TALE OF THE WOMAN "HERETIC" 
WHO DIED FOR HER CONSCIENCE 



This is the tale of a woman heretic 
who loved truth better than life, and liberty to speak 
the truth more than the comfort of safety and home, whose 
martyrdom bears fruit to-day in the religious freedom of a country 
where "all may worship God according to the dictates of conscience." 

IN THIS day of religious tolerance, when the Ten 
Commandments are the greatest law of the land, 
it is Hke an old romance to hear of the time, when 
those who dared to differ in religious convictions 
from a certain fixed creed, were publicly whipped, held 
fast in the stocks, and branded with the letter ^'H," 
meaning heretic. Others were haled to court and fined, 
and so rigid was the law, the penalty might be : * ' Sold 
into slavery to Virginia or Barbadoes. ' ' 

It was in the year of 1657. A woman, who dared to 
speak the word of truth that burned in her soul, was 
banished from Boston, with her husband and children, 
and fled to Long Island to escape the severe penalty 
of her free speech. After two years of banishment, she 
believed that it was her duty to return, for the purpose 
of aiding those, who, like herself, had suffered for con- 
science's sake. Upon her return to Boston, she was 
arrested again, and sentenced to banishment or death. 

**Take her away," ordered the angered magistrate. 

''Yea, joyfully shall I go," she replied, her face 
alight with the spirit of the truth aglow within her. 



THE WOMAN "HERETIC 



The crowd followed her to Boston Common, shout- 
ing and jeering. Drummers kept close at her heels, 
drowning her voice with their steady beats when she 
tried to answer the crowd. 

' ' Take me to the gallows, ' ^ she shouted. * ^ I 'm will- 
ing to die for my conscience. ' ' 

A throng of people hooted in derision as she entered 
Boston Common. The woman, her face as peaceful as 
a benediction, faced the gallows. Then, gazing upon 
the jeering crowd, she shouted : 

^ * This is to me the hour of the greatest joy I ever 
had in this world ! No tongue can utter, and no heart 
can understand, the sweet refreshing from the spirit of 
the Lord, which I now feel ! ^ ' 

The crowd again broke into taunts and ridicule, 
laughing and shouting. The woman's clothes were 
tied about her feet. The gallows-rope was loosened, 
and the noose placed over her neck. Her face was as 
peaceful as that of a child. 

She had known the love of a husband, and the 
hallowed rapture of motherhood, but this strange joy 
of dying for the truth, of giving herself a martyr to the 
Lord, surpassed all human emotions. 

The rope was about to fall. The crowd was for a 
moment still. 

'^Stop!'' cried a voice. 

A youth pushed his way through the crowd. 

*^I hold in my hand the reprieve of the Governor.'' 

The pleading of her son had softened the heart of 
the chief magistrate. 

''I will give you two days to get this heretic out of 
the country,'' he had said, as he granted the reprieve. 

The woman was again hurried through the jeering 
crowd, and in a few hours was on her way back to Long 
Island. 

—427— 



HERO TALES 



But her conscience refused to be stilled. 

*^I must not submit to this tyranny/' she cried. 

* ^ The voice of God calls me. ' ' 

Her children pleaded with her to remain with them 
on Long Island, but she refused. The husband, fearing 
the results of this journey, hurried a dispatch to the 
Governor : 

*^If her zeal be so great to thus adventure,'' it read, 

* * oh, let your pity and favor surmount it, and save her 
life. I only say this : Yourselves, have been, and are, 
or may be, husbands to wives ; so am I, yea, to one most 
dearly beloved. Oh, do not deprive me of her, but I 
pray give her to me once again. Pity me. I beg it 
with tears, and rest your humble supplicant. ' ' 

Some days later the woman again stood before the 
Governor charged with heresy. 

**Are you the same Mary Dyer that was here 
before?'' he inquired. 

^ ' I am the same Mary Dyer that was here at the last 
General Court," she answered calmly. 

^'You will own yourself a Quaker, will you not?" 
asked the Governor. 

**I own myself to be reproachfully so called," she 
answered. 

*^You are sentenced to death," retorted the Gov- 
ernor in anger. 

*^This is no more than thee said before," replied the 
woman. 

*^But now, madam," he growled, *'it is to be 
executed. Therefore prepare yourself to die at nine 
o'clock to-morrow." 

On the following morning, the crowd was again 
gathered on the Common. The woman stood with the 
same peace on her face, and refused the prayers of the 
established church. 

—428— 



THE WOMAN "HERETIC" 



''Do not be deluded of the devil, '* counselled the 
minister. 

''Nay, man,'' she replied, "I do not now repent. 
There is nothing to repent of, for I have seen Paradise, 
and have witnessed to the truth." 

The crowd jeered. 

*'Yea," she said, "I have been in Paradise several 
days, and it is joy to know that soon I shall be there 
forever. ' ' 

As her body hung on the gallows, one of the judges 
scoffingly remarked: 

' ' She did hang as a flag for others to take example 
by.'' 

And Mary Dyer did, indeed, hang as a flag — the flag 
of the dawn of a new day of liberty, in which each man 
may worship God according to the dictates of his con- 
science, and a new nation in which its ' ' Congress shall 
make no law prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or 
bridling the freedom of speech, or the press, or the 
right of the people to assemble." 



"O sense of right! O sense of right, 
Whatever my lot in life may be, 
Thou art to me God's inner light, 
And these tired feet must follow thee. 

"But, though alone, and grieved at heart, 
Bereft of human brotherhood, 
I trust the whole and not the part, 
And know that Providence is good. 

"Self-sacrifice is never lost. 

But bears the seed of its reward; 
They who for others leave the most, 
For others gain the most from God." 



-429— 



THE TALE OF THE BRIDGE BUILDER 
WHO UNITED TWO GREAT CITIES 



This is the tale of a man's handiwork 
and the magic of his skill, in which a great highway 
is thrown across a river and two of the largest cities of Amer- 
ican civilization are brought together into a huge metropolis of 
trade and commerce. It is a tale of the ingenuity and heroism of peace. 

IT WAS in the days wlien the great metropolis of 
New York was witnessing a great engineering 
feat, in which a huge bridge 5,989 feet long was to 
span the East Kiver, and form a massive high- 
way over which more than a half million people were to 
pass each day between the cities of New York and 
Brooklyn. This bridge, which was to cost more than 
$13,000,000, had been planned by one John Roebling, a 
civil engineer, whose triumphs over space and river- 
beds had amazed the American people. A few years 
before, he had thrown a long span across the Niagara 
Eiver, the possibility of which had been foretold by 
eminent engineers throughout the world. A few years 
later, he surpassed even this achievement, and spanned 
the Ohio Eiver at Cincinnati with a suspension-bridge, 
a feat which was accounted one of the most remarkable 
of the times. 

It was in the summer of 1869. The foundations 
were being laid for the huge stone towers which were 
to rise from the surface of the East River. 

*^ Roebling is dead,'^ was the news that swept 

:30— 



THE BRIDGE BUILDER 



through. New York and across the continent. The 
great engineer, whose mind had conceived this wonder- 
ful union of cities, lay lifeless, a sacrifice to his own 
greatness. ^Tiile personally engaged in laying out 
the towers for the bridge, he had received an accidental 
injury, which had resulted in his death from tetanus. 
But behind him he had left in the minds of other men 
the secret details of the marvelous structure which was 
now to be his monument. 

The great, equal towers lifted their massive height 
to 268 feet. Upon them now was to be swung the 
mighty highway that was to unite the metropolis of the 
western world with its sister city. The moment had 
come when the first thread that was to form that mighty 
bond must be thrown from the towers. Seven years 
had passed since the foundations had been laid, and 
the genius who had inspired it had given his life as its 
first sacrifice. 

The month of August, 1876, was drawing to a close. 
Tugs ploughed through the river, dragging behind them 
two cables of about three-quarters of an inch in thick- 
ness, and which stretched from shore to shore as they 
lay on the river-bed. The little hoisting engines began 
to puff, and the two cables were drawn from the water 
and lifted into space, until they reached the tops of the 
towers and rested upon them. 

The great span was just begun. The first call had 
come for some one to risk his life in order to test the 
strength of the cable. Some one must swing across the 
expanse of a mile, suspended to the wire thread, nearly 
three hundred feet above the tossing waters of the 
river. 

*^I'll do it,'' said a man, about fifty years of age, 
solidly built, and his hair gray with years of perilous 
duty. He was a master-mechanic, whose skill and 

—431— 



HERO TALES 



courage had solved a thousand apparently insurmount- 
able difficulties, during the years since the first founda- 
tion-stone of the bridge had been laid. 

A few moments later, the figure of a man shot out 
from the bank of the river, suspended in mid-air on a 
board seat that hung from the cable under the power of 
the hoisting engine. The master-mechanic's fellow- 
workmen attempted to lash him to his seat, but he waved 
them aside. The wire thread slipped from its anchor- 
age on the Brooklyn banks of the river and the swinging 
seat rose steadily higher and higher toward the tower. 
The incline was steep and the weight of its human pas- 
senger caused it to sag. As the master-mechanic neared 
the top, the swaying wire dashed him toward the huge 
masonry, but, by his alertness and experience, he was 
able to protect himself from the grave danger of strik- 
ing it. 

^* Hurrah! Hurrah! he has reached the tower!'' 
shouted the workmen from the river-bank. The cheer 
was taken up by the thousands who had gathered to 
watch the daring spectacle of a man passing over East 
Eiver in mid-air, suspended from a single wire. 

The first stage of the perilous journey had been 
reached. The master-mechanic stood on the top of 
one of the great towers that rose from the waters. He 
gazed across the river. There, sixteen hundred feet 
away, another huge tower, of an equal height, had been 
reared near the New York shore. 

Waving his hand to the engineers, the master- 
mechanic signaled. The little engine puffed. The 
wire again slipped from the loop at its anchorage and 
as the master-mechanic swung out over the channel of 
the river, a hurricane of cheers arose from the crowd. 
The steamships in the river beneath him opened their 
throttles, and a mighty din and clatter saluted the 

-432— 



i\ 



THE BRIDGE BUILDER 



courage of the man who was inspiring his onlookers 
with his heroic fidelity to duty. As he looked down 
from his swinging seat, the piers and ferries and house- 
tops below were black with people. 

To those who were anxiously waiting on the Brook- 
lyn shores, it seemed that the dangling speck in mid- 
air hardly moved, so slow was its progress. The mo- 
ments passed; nearer and nearer it came to the New 
York tower. 

^^He is there!'' shouted the crowd and the tumult 
below again reached his ears. 

On the tower stood the master-mechanic, waving a 
flag at the crowd below. Cheer after cheer echoed 
across the river. 

Seven years later, the great Brooklyn Bridge was 
completed. Two of the greatest cities of western civil- 
ization had been united, and since that day hundreds of 
millions of people have passed over the huge highway 
in absolute safety. Thousands of trains, crowded with 
passengers, traverse its roadways every day between 
the great centers of population. Such is its endless 
stream of humanity at the beginning and close of each 
day's work, that it has become one of the great wonder- 
sights of the world ; and at a single moment, it is said, 
there are often more than twenty-thousand people 
bound on the pilgrimage across this marvelous highway 
suspended over the river. 

This is the tale of the astounding modern artisan- 
ship of man, and its hero was Edwin Farrington, the 
master-mechanic, who was the first man to pass over 
the East Eiver on the first cable of the great Brooklyn 
Bridge. 



—433— 




THE TALE OF THE PILGRIM SOLDIER 
WHO CHALLENGED BARBARISM 



This is the tale of a soldier of the Mayflower 
who defied the challenge of the savage land and drove back 
barbarism before the courageous onslaught of civilization, begin- 
ning the struggle which passed persistently down the centuries until 
to-day a continent is swept from ocean to ocean by the hand of progress. 

THE little settlement lay on the bleak, rugged 
coast of New England. Smoke curled from 
the log houses that stood on the shores at the 
edge of the forests that were yet untrod by 
the foot of white men. Along the path passed a stal- 
wart man, wearing knee breeches ; a broad-brimmed hat 
shaded his face, and in his hands he carried a musket. 
It was here, to this strange new wilderness, that he 
had come with these brave pioneers that they might 
worship God in their own way. The religious persecu- 
tion of the Old World had been more than conscience 
could bear, and in the wilds of the newly discovered 
continent, where the only law was the law of nature, 
they had come to seek refuge, determined to face its 
hardships and dangers, trusting to God to shape their 
destinies. The character of the settlers was well suited 
to the rugged, storm-beaten coast on which they had 
landed; sober-minded, earnest men, of deep religious 
principles. 

The blinding snows and bitter gales from the sea 
beat upon their crude log houses. Disease overtook 

—434— 



THE PILGRIM SOLDIER 



them. At one time all but seven were prostrated by- 
sickness, and before the winter ended half the settle- 
ment of about one hundred men and women had died. 
Through the cold months of blizzard, for the winters 
were then as wild as the bleak land that they swept, the 
brave settlers struggled to subsist on the scanty har- 
vests, but, despite their terrible suffering, not one 
would return to Europe, when one day the opportunity 
came to them. 

^^We will live or die in the faith of God,'^ they said, 
** according to His will.'' 

In the forests roamed the wild beasts and savages. 
Occasionally an Indian was seen skulking along the 
trail that entered the vast dominion of primeval nature. 
Though the Indians had not disturbed them, a company 
of militia had been formed for their protection. 

It was a day in early spring. The maids and 
matrons were busy with their household duties, and the 
men were in the fields turning the sod for the sowing 
of the crops, whose bounties were to save them from 
starvation. 

Suddenly, a strange cry rang through the village. 

* * Welcome ! Welcome ! Welcome ! ' ' 

There, in the village street, before the cabin doors, 
stood a bronze-limbed messenger of the savage tribes of 
the forest, crying in broken English the greeting of 
the white man. 

The women were in consternation. Men hurried 
in from the nearby fields carrying their muskets, ready 
for whatever was to come. The terrified children 
rushed into the houses, barring the doors after them. 

The Indian messenger marched through the village 
until the captain of the militia strode up to him and 
blocked his path. Then, with savage gallantry, he 
thrust into the white man's hand a rattlesnake skin in 

.—435— 



HERO TALES 



which was wrapped a bundle of arrows, the barbarian *s 
challenge to white civilization. 

The grim captain turned and gave the token to the 
Governor, who had hastily joined the group of excited 
settlers. While his agitated comrades eagerly exam- 
ined the object, the stern soldier stood aloof, listening 
to their excited questions and exclamations. They all 
knew the import of the bundle of arrows. 

*^What shall we doT' asked one of them. **We 
must show him that we are his friends.'' 

^'Send them a message of peace," said another. 
^^Tell him we do not fight." 

Suddenly, the captain strode forward. Grasping 
the rattlesnake skin, he impatiently shook the arrows 
from the skin. As the last arrow fell to the ground, 
he immediately filled the skin with powder and shot. 
His face was stem and hard-set. His eyes shot forth 
lightning. He thrust the skin at the Indian messenger. 

''Though war is terrible," he thundered, ''I will 
fight for the right. Powder will smell sweet in the 
cause of justice. Here is your answer take it back." 

The messenger turned and ran fleetly back along the 
trail into the forest. The settlers were astounded at 
the daring of the captain of the militia. Throughout 
the day and night the militiamen stood guard at the 
approaches to the village. But the only word that 
came from the forest was that of good-will, and the 
settlement, that was laying the foundation of a new 
nation, was left in peace. The chivalry and courage 
of the captain had aroused the admiration and the fear 
of the savage tribes. 

It was some months later that word was brought to 
the doughty captain that the Indians were preparing 
to attack the settlement. He hastily mustered eight of 
his little company and set out to meet them before they 

—436-^ 



THE PILGRIM SOLDIER 



had time to form a concerted attack. Mile after mile, 
they marched through the forest, fording swift run- 
ning streams, as they approached the camp of the In- 
dians. One of the soldiers climbed a tall tree. He 
gained the top-most branch and for a few moments 
gazed off through the maze of trees. 

^'The Indians are jnst ahead,'' he reported. 

*^ Quietly, now, men,'' said the leader, as they cau- 
tiously crept through the underbrush. The shining 
steel helmet and breast-plate of the captain served as 
a guide to his followers. He halted. Turning, he 
beckoned to his brave men to come up. There, 
through the bushes, could be seen a great tribe of In- 
dians, seated in council. 

A wild shout rang through the woods. The Indians, 
startled, sprang to their feet. Great was their amaze- 
ment to see a band of steel-clad figures dash from the 
thickets into the clearing. A sheet of flame belched 
from the guns of the invaders. Their aim had been 
true. Two Indian chiefs fell to the ground, mortally 
wounded. The Indians, filled with terror, fled into the 
forest, leaving the eight soldiers victors of the field. 

Several hours later, at the head of the path leading 
into the little village of Plymouth, the helmets of the 
eight brave soldiers flashed in the light. At their 
head strode their grim-visaged captain. The colonists 
rushed from their homes and cheered lustily as the men 
marched through the settlement, unheeding the excla- 
mations of praise, straight to the house of the Governor 
where they were joyously greeted. 

Thus it was that the brave captain of the militia, the 
soldier of the Mayflower, about whom song and tradi- 
tion wreathed many a romance — Captain Myles 
Standish won the first stand of Puritanism against 
barbarism in the New World. 

—437— 




THE TALE OF THE SERGEANT WHO 
RESCUED THE FALLEN FLAG 



This is tlie tale of a sergeant 
who stood at his cannon when his flag fell fronn its 
staff and leaped into the mouth of death to rescue it fronr) 
the dust. It is a tale of the heart of a true soldier, in which the 
ensign for which he is fighting is more to him than the value of life. 

WHEN the Americans began their struggle 
for independence, powerful old England 
laughed and scoffed. 

*^Our army will sweep them into the 
seas,'^ she said. ** There will not be a rebel left. The 
liberty idea is a phantom and we will crush it out in the 
first combat.'^ 

But the old monarchy had never before met the 
spirit of patriotism in freemen, and, much to her 
chagrin, the King's soldiers were stubbornly resisted. 
In surveying the situation, the great British officers 
decided that the South was the most penetrable point 
to strike a decisive blow. 

**A few good frigates, three regiments, and some 
artillery would do the whole business,'' proclaimed 
the haughty English Governor of South Carolina. 
^ ^ Charleston is the fountain head from whence all vio- 
lence flows ; stop that and the rebellion in this part of 
the country will soon be at end." 

Early in the summer of 1776 a large fleet of British 
ships appeared off the coast of South Carolina. The 

—.438— 



THE SERGEANT 



patriots hurriedly threw up fortifications to resist the 
attack of the powerful fleet. Stores and warehouses 
along the water-front at Charleston, were torn down 
so that the guns of the town could command the bay. 
Across the harbor was Sullivan's Island; here the 
patriots hastily built a fort of soft palmetto logs. It 
was a crude affair ; a low, square platform, surrounded 
by breast-works of logs, offering but scanty protection 
to the gunners, and garrisoned by four hundred men, 
many of whom had no experience in warfare. 

On the seventh of June, the great fleet of English 
vessels sailed into the harbor and anchored. The next 
day the British admiral sent a proclamation to the citi- 
zens of the town, warning them of the horrors of war. 
He demanded that they return to their allegiance with 
the English government. Pardon was offered to the 
rebels if they obeyed. But the colonists determined to 
fight in the defense of their rights and continued to 
build their fortifications. 

It was the twenty-eighth of June. Eight frigates 
of the English fleet advanced on the half-completed 
fort on Sullivan's Island. From a tall flag-staff on its 
battlements, the first republican flag that ever flew in 
the South was waving defiance to the great warships. 

The British ships came within range. A spurt of 
flame leaped from a gun in the island fort. Unheeding 
the shot, the British admiral maneuvered his ships into 
position and anchored. The stern-faced Americans 
sighted their guns. A terrific sheet of fire burst forth. 
The shells found their marks, and great wooden 
splinters shot high in the air. 

Now the English were ready and a fearful broad- 
side crashed from the flagship. Scarcely had the 
thundering roar of her cannons ceased, when the other 
ships in the fleet opened their batteries, the shells 

—439-^ 



HERO TALES 



hurtling across the water and striking the soft, spongy- 
palmetto logs with tremendous thuds. But the shot 
did little damage, though the concussion shook the fort 
to its very foundations. 

The watching Americans suddenly noticed that the 
English flagship was drifting from the line. The tide 
seemed to be bearing the vessel close under the guns 
of the fort. The patriots trained their batteries upon 
her. As the ship drew near, the shell from the fort 
raked the deck, from stem to stern. Of the hundred 
men, but one sailor escaped the fire. The harbor 
echoed with the terrific bombardment. The English 
ships staggered under the gruelling. The American 
patriots on the island stood at their posts, heedless of 
the terrible broadsides that shook the fort from side 
to side. 

Behind one of the cannon, stood the tall, wiry figure 
of a sergeant. In his mouth was a pipe that he calmly 
puffed as he trained and fired his gun. Above his head 
waved the American flag. His great cannon roared 
defiantly. Then, he stepped back and looked around 
him. His eyes turned to the flagstaff. There, where 
the flag had been fluttering but a moment before, was 
but a few feet of a shattered staff. The flag had been 
shot away! 

The sergeant, still puffing his pipe, looked about 
him. The flag had not fallen within the fortifications. 
He peered over the wall of logs. There, several feet 
away, in the full glare of the fire from the British war- 
ships, lay the bullet-riddled ensign on the ground. The 
fire of the British guns was turned upon it. 

Suddenly, the sergeant was missed from his post 
of duty. His comrades called to him. There was no 
answer. On the marshy ground in front of the fort, he 
lay in the midst of a fearful hail of shot. He gained his 

—440— 



THE SERGEANT 



feet, and, crouching low sprang to the flag and canght 
it up. A huge ball struck beside him, ripping up the 
earth in a great furrow. The shrieking shells burst 
around him, as he fled back to the fort. Over the 
breastwork he clambered with the torn flag tightly 
grasped in his hands. Cheers burst from the throats 
of the gunners as on the top of a sponge-staff the flag 
of liberty fluttered again over the battlements. 

Late that night the English fleet withdrew. When 
the sun rose above the horizon the following morning, 
the sight of the empty bay cheered the hearts of the 
Americans. The English had met with disastrous 
defeat and sailed away from Charleston, leaving the 
brave defenders without further molestation. 

Thus was ended what was unquestionably one of the 
first decisive battles of the Revolutionary War. It 
saved not a post, but the state. It gave security to 
Georgia, and three years ' peace to the Carolinas ; it dis- 
pelled throughout the South the dread of English 
superiority. Some years later the British swept the 
South, but only in the flush of a moment's victory, be- 
fore the day of reckoning that was awaiting them at 
Yorktown. 

Of all the heroic days during that great struggle 
for independence, there is none more inspiring than 
that in the palmetto fort at old Charleston, and of all 
the brave defenders of the town, one of the bravest was 
the daring patriot who leaped the wall into the midst 
of the enemy's bullets to retrieve the fallen flag of 
liberty — Sergeant Jasper. 



**America's star has illumined the pathway, 
That led on to victory, nor daunted the brave, 
Its pure light has flooded with glory forever. 
Our loved Land of Freedom from tyranny saved. 

-441— 



THE TALE OF THE PATHFINDER WHO 
SAVED A PROMISED LAND 



The tale of a Pathfinder 
who blazed the path over which a great people wer« 
to pass to a new Land of Pronnise, who, when his country- 
men were in danger, drove the enemy from their midst and fought 
through battles and political strifes with the same undaunted courage. 

THE country beyond the Mississippi Eiver, in 
the days of this tale, was a vast region of 
forest and prairie that was unknown, except 
as some daring trapper or adventurer pene- 
trated its mysteries to match prowess with its wild 
animals, the bear and the lynx. 

The great East, which but a few years before, had 
been but a wild waste, was now conquered by towering 
cities and great multitudes, who, coming from the 
shores of the Atlantic, were crowding civilization into 
the interior until now it was on the borderline of the 
foothills of the Eockies. 

Tales of the fabulous wealth of this mountain coun- 
try were brought back to the East. Immigrant trains 
began to move into the untracked wilderness. The 
call of the wilds rang along the Atlantic shores and 
thousands turned toward the promised land. So loud 
became its appeal, that the government at Washington 
was called upon to blaze a path for the van of civiliza- 
tion to follow. 

It was in the year 1842. A tall, thin man, his face 
—442— 



THE PATHFINDER 



hardened by the weather, left the national capital on 
the trip for his government. Some days later he 
entered the city of St. Louis, which was then the out- 
post of civilization. It was the rendezvous of the 
hunters and trappers and adventurers of the day. 
Here they came with the trophies of the hunt, and told 
their marvelous tales of the Great West. The gov- 
ernment explorer soon gathered about him some of the 
most daring frontiersmen of the times. 

Early one summer day, the group of daring men 
bade farewell to civilization and marched into the 
mysterious country. Day after day, they toiled along, 
camping at night alongside mountain streams. Listen- 
ing to the weird night-sounds of the wild region ; labor- 
ing through the arid sands, toiling over ranges of 
mountains, weaving their way through narrow, tortu- 
ous passes. Until one day they stood on a mountain 
summit and before them lay a valley of rich promise, 
fertile and green, fed by rivers rushing from surround- 
ing hills. There, beyond the hills and valleys, was 
seen the flashing, heaving billows of the Pacific ocean. 
They had reached the western boundary of the conti- 
nent. Up and down the coast they ranged, making 
notes of the rich country, and compiling maps and 
records, that, when they brought them back to Wash- 
ington, after months of weary travel and suffering, 
were to result in the acquisition of this great country 
to the United States. 

The following year found the intrepid leader and 
his band of loyal followers again plodding through the 
forests and deserts. Over the great Eocky Mountains 
and on to California, they passed, surveying a route 
for the great immigration of the American people that 
was to follow in a few years. The pioneer settlers of 
lower California were being driven from their homes 

-443— 



HERO TALES 

^ 



by the Mexican soldiers. The Mexican Eepublic real- 
ized the richness of the state and determined to drive 
the American settlers from the country and claim the 
territory as her own. The news was brought to the 
explorer. 

'^I want to know/^ he remarked, **"We may have 
something to say about that.'' 

Without waiting for orders from Washington he 
hastened to the aid of the settlers. As he entered the 
valley a scene of desolation lay before him. Homes 
were in flames ; villages in desolation, and the inhabi- 
tants fleeing in terror before the Mexican soldiers. 

^ * This must stop, ' ' exclaimed the explorer. * * Amer- 
icans must be protected wherever they are.'' 

Gathering a small army of settlers about him, he 
marched out to meet the Mexicans in battle. The in- 
trepid band of pioneers withstood the onslaught and 
held their ground. Conflict after conflict followed, in 
which the brave explorer courageously led his men to 
victory against the powerful Mexican army. He had 
assumed the burden of the American pioneers, not 
knowing that the United States had declared war 
against Mexico. And when General Kearney was on 
his way to defend the state, the surveyor had driven 
the Mexicans out of California and held the valuable 
region for the United States. 

The freedom of the wilderness was in the heart of 
this dauntless pathfinder. So strong had it become, 
that it knew no discipline, and in the months and years 
that followed, his nature fought against subordination 
and proclaimed its independence against all superior 
mandates, involving him in difficulties with his govern- 
ment and the army. 

Many times he crossed the vast wilderness, and 
conquered its hardships, fighting his way through 

—444— 



THE PATHFINDER 



almost impassable obstacles, to blaze a path for the 
great army of immigrants who were to people tbe coast 
of the Pacific and build great cities of American civil- 
ization on its shores. 

In 1848, this explorer organized an expedition at 
his own expense and started on his third trip across the 
thousands of miles of mountains and forests, and 
through a fearful winter. The cold winds of the west- 
em mountains cruelly lashed them as they ploughed 
their way through the snow, over the Eockies. The 
following spring found the little band staggering down 
the slopes of the mountains around the city of Sacra- 
mento, and here they stayed, the leader purchasing an 
estate and settling down after the long years of hard- 
ships in opening the great state of California to the 
American people. His fame had spread over the land 
and he was popularly known as the ^ ^ Pathfinder. ' ' 
The new state of California sent him to Washington 
as their Congressman, where he fought his political 
battles with the same courage that he fought the wil- 
derness. 

Some years later he was elected governor of Ari- 
zona Territory. At seventy-three years of age. Con- 
gress placed the old pathfinder on the retired list of the 
army as major-general. 

His last days were passed in retirement from the 
turmoils that had raged about his long life, and the 
man who had 5 erved his country according to his sense 
of duty, and who had thrown open to civilization the 
great trails that led to the Eldorado— the land of gold 
— will ever be remembered as an heroic figure in Amer- 
ican history — General John C. Fremont. 



-445— 



THE TALE OF THE SOUTHERN PLANTER 
WHO BECAME FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY 



This is the tale of the first great American 
and the founding of the greatest nation in the annals of 
mankind. It Is the tale of a planter who led his people to v 

triumph and was lifted by them to the highest honor within theirj 
power— the presidency of the republic that is destined to lead civilization. 

QEEAT was the joy in the home of a wealthy 
planter, down in Westmoreland County, in 
old Virginia, when a son was born to him on 
the twenty-second day of February, in 1732. 
The mother was a woman of strong character and deep 
piety. The father died when the boy was ten years of 
age. An elder son inherited the magnificent old 
Southern plantation, but he died early in life, and, at 
the age of twenty, the hero of this tale became the heir 
of the large property. 

These were the days of the beginnings of real estate 
operations in America. Great tracts of land were being 
surveyed along the Ohio. Boundaries and titles were 
founding the wealth of the first families of the New 
World. The young land-owner, who had chosen the 
calling of a surveyor, tracked through the pathless 
forests to the frontier at sixteen years of age, in the pur- 
suit of his business. Though he was American-born, 
his family were loyal colonists of the mother-country, 
and the youth, having received the commission of a 
major, fought under the British flag against the French 

—446— 



THE PLANTER 



and Indians. The King's soldiers were so much im- 
pressed with the courage and ability of this dignified 
youth that he was soon placed in command of a division 
of the British army. 

Along the Spanish main, the British empire was in 
conflict with the power of ancient Spain. The spirit of 
chivalry and knighthood fired the heart of the youth, 
and he volunteered his services to the King's navy, 
which was about to sail for an attack upon the strongly 
fortified city of Cartagena. He was assigned to a 
fighting ship, and was about to bid farewell to the 
colonies, when his mother's heart was overcome with 
grief at the thought of parting with her boy, and she 
pleaded with him to remain at home. 

It was through his mother's appeal that he remained 
an American colonist. If she had not prevailed, he 
would have soon been sailing the seas with the British 
navy, his character and courage would have won him 
promotion, and would undoubtedly have made him a 
hero of English, rather than of American history. 

The youth set aside his ambition, in order to please 
his mother, and settled on the family estate in Virginia, 
where he married, and for the next twenty years led 
the life of a Southern planter in comfortable circum- 
stances. His neighbors came to him for advice. At 
his fireside they discussed the politics of the colonies, 
severely condemning the policy of the mother-country. 

' ' Taxation without representation is tyranny, ' ' they 
declared. 

The planter listened to their appeals, and agreed 
with them that the mother-country should remedy the 
injustice which was being done in the colonies ; but he 
counseled them to temper their demands with courtesy. 

The breach between the home government and the 
colonies widened. The mother-country became arro- 

—447— 



HERO TALES 



gant in her demands, and the colonists insolent in their 
responses. Effigies of the King were hanged in the 
public streets. Mobs called for violence. 

^^Down with the King!*^ they cried. **Give us 
liberty.'' 

In the Continental Congress, the debates, which 
were at first merely argumentative, were now defiant. 
The voice of revolution rang through the halls. On the 
floor of Congress stood the stately Virginia planter, 
now forty-two years of age, his features noble and his 
bearing impressive. His clear voice appealed for tem- 
perate speech. He protested against rash methods and 
called upon his colleagues to employ reason rather than 
violence. 

The people were aroused, and when once they unite 
in a common cause they will have their way. So it was 
with the deeply wronged and profoundly indignant 
colonists. They determined to give their lives rather 
than longer submit to tyranny. 

*'They are fighting at Lexington. The first martyr 
has fallen I ' ' 

The news spread like wildfire. The pent-up wrath 
of the American people burst forth into flames of war. 
Farmers left the plough, artisans their benches, 
merchants their stores, and rushed to arms. 

^ ^ Give me liberty or give me death ! ' ' These were 
the words that were on the lips of the people. 

^^The American colonists are determined to resist 
the power of Great Britain!" The words brought a 
sneer to the court of England. ^ ^ They want something 
that they call liberty. They talk of the independence. ' ' 
The '^fool-hardiness" of it all made the ancient 
monarchies of Europe smile. 

**Ticonderoga is taken. Crown Point has fallen. 
They are fighting at Bunker Hill!" 

--448— 



THE PLANTER 



^'The insurrection will be promptly suppressed, ' ' 
remarked old Europe, placidly. ^ * It is not serious. ' ^ 

A few weeks later, the streets of Cambridge, in 
Massachusetts, were thronged with men from every 
walk of life, bearing muskets on their shoulders, and 
marching to the beat of the drum. Among them were 
hundreds who had fought for old England in the French 
and Indian wars, but who were now in revolt against 
the injustice of their government. 

Under a spreading elm tree, stood a tall, dignified 
man, clad in a blue broadcloth coat, buff small clothes, 
silk stockings and cocked hat — the dress of the period. 
Astride a great war-horse, he rode along the line of 
Americans. As he drew his sword, a shout echoed 
through the streets of the village. Congress had ap- 
pointed him commander-in-chief of the Colonial forces, 
and he had bowed to their will. 

The western world was now in the throes of revolu- 
tion. The destiny of a great people was balancing in 
the scales of war. Little did they know that every 
volley that belched forth from their guns was to echo 
down through the centuries as long as man shall live 
on the earth; that each falling martyr unloosed the 
chains from a million yet unborn ; that every bayonet- 
charge pierced the traditions of the generations and 
let in the light of a new age of liberty and freedom, 
such as the people of the earth had not yet known. 

** Montreal has surrendered. They have besieged 
Quebec, the citadel of the British power. Boston is 
evacuated. Fort Moultrie is attacked." 

The news stirred the pulse of the world. 

**The Americans have declared themselves free. 
They have cut the last bond that ties them to monarchy. 
They have issued to the world a Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. Their words bum with a new fire that seems 

—449— 



HERO TALES 



to penetrate the darkness of the past and cast its rays 
upon the world ^s future.'^ 

^^We hold these truths to be self-evident,'' declared 
the document, — ^'that all men are created free and 
equal; that they are endowed by their creator with 
certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, 
liberty and pursuit of happiness. That, to secure these 
rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving 
their just powers from the consent of the governed; 
that whenever any form of government becomes de- 
structive of these ends, it is the right of the people to 
alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government, 
laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing 
its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most 
likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, 
indeed, will dictate that governments long established 
should not be changed for light and transient causes ; 
and, accordingly, all experience hath shown that man- 
kind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are suffer- 
able, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms 
to which they are accustomed. But when a long train 
of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the 
same object, evinces a design to reduce them under ab- 
solute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to 
throw off such government, and to provide new guards 
for their future security. ' ' 

The ancient civilization, in which the power of 
government had been held by kings and aristocracies 
throughout the generations, was shaken through and 
through by this new doctrine. 

The proclamation inspired the revolutionists with 
almost superhuman endurance and courage. Now they 
are lighting on Long Island; now at White Plains. 
Fort Washington is taken. Now the Americans are in 
retreat through New Jersey. At Trenton and Prince- 

—450— 



THE PLANTER 



ton they are fighting desperately. Now they are at 
Bennington; now at Brandywine. Philadelphia sur- 
renders to the British. The Americans make a brave 
stand at Germantown. Saratoga has fallen ! One of 
the decisive battles of the world has been fought, — and 
the great Burgoyne surrenders. 

Through the long months of struggle for inde- 
pendence, the dominating spirit that kept the soldiers 
from wavering was that of the Virginia planter, who 
shared the hardships of his half-clad and hungry men. 

It was in the winter of 1777-78. A division of the 
American army, commanded by the Virginian, was en- 
camped for the winter at Valley Forge. The British, 
in the city of Philadelphia, were quartered in warm 
houses, comfortably clad and enjoying their relief from 
the horrors of war. The little American army of about 
seven thousand men, worn, ragged and hungry, en- 
camped in the snow-covered valley, and shivered in the 
searching winds which swept through their forest huts. 
So reduced were they, that a suit of clothing often 
served two soldiers — one wearing it while the other 
remained in his hovel. Many were without shoes ; their 
bare, bleeding feet pressed the snow and frozen ground. 
Food was sometimes lacking for days. The weakened 
soldiers sickened and died by scores, but in spite of all 
these privations, the brave patriots remained faithful 
to their cause, inspired by the conduct and courage of 
their commander, the Virginian. 

One day, a man passing through the valley heard a 
voice raised in prayer. Creeping in its direction, he 
discovered, through the foliage, the general on his 
knees, his cheeks wet with tears, imploring the Almighty 
for succor. Awed by the sight, he softly stole away 
and told his wife of the scene. 

**If there is anyone to whom the Lord will listen/' 
-451— 



HERO TALES 



^ 



he said, *4t is the brave commander, and under such a 
man our independence is certain/' 

In the following spring, the gloom of the Americans 
was dispelled by the promise of assistance from France. 
The exhausted American army, re-enforced by the 
French, took up with fresh courage the struggle for 
liberty. 

Great Britain, aroused by the fate that was menac- 
ing her, unloosed all her force upon those who had 
declared this new doctrine of liberty. The armies stood 
arrayed against each other at Monmouth. The news 
of a massacre came from "Wyoming. The British cap- 
tured Savannah. Stony Point fell to the Americans. 
Charleston surrendered to the King's army. Now they 
are fighting at Camden ; now at King's Mountain. Eich- 
mond is burning. The armies are face to face at Cow- 
pens, at Guilford Court-House, at Eutaw Springs. 

Six years of fearful suffering and warfare had re- 
duced the American army to desperation. 

*' Liberty or death!" The inspiring words now 
burned more fiercely in their breasts than ever befora 

It was the autumn of 1781. The British were be- 
sieged in Yorktown. Again and again, the King's sol- 
diers struggled to raise the siege only to be driven 
back into the city. The lines of the American patriots, 
and their French allies, drew (4oser and closer. Across 
the plains before the city they marched, unheeding the 
fearful fire of the British cannon, and making no return 
until they were clearly within rifle-range. Suddenly, a 
flashing sheet of flame and shot bursts from the ranks 
of the advancing soldiers. Cheers fill the air. The 
King's men yield two of their strongest fortifications. 
The American spirit of independence is now aflame. 
Its scorching fires drive everything before them. The 
British seem to waver; they stagger back. A great 

—452— 



THE PLANTER 



shout breaks forth again from thousands of throats. 
Men seem in delirium. Again and again, the hills ring 
with cheers that are still passing down through the 
generations. Cornwallis has surrendered ! Monarchial 
government is driven forever from the federation of 
American colonies, now colonies no longer. The British 
ensign falls to the ground. The new ])anner of liberty 
floats high in the skies. 

It was the nineteenth day of October, in 1781. Be- 
fore the wrecked walls of Yorktown, the American 
army stood in a line that extended for over a mile. 
Fronting the Americans, was a line of the French. 
Between the two armies, towered the figures of the tall, 
dignified Virginian planter, and of the French com- 
mander. To slow music, the humbled British army 
marched, with shouldered arms and furled colors. A 
British officer advanced toward the American com- 
mander. Unsheathing his sword, he offered it to the 
Virginian, who, with fine delicacy of feeling, directed 
that it be given to a fellow officer, — and the war of the 
Revolution was over. 

A new nation was born. A great republic, which 
was to instill the love of liberty into the minds and 
hearts of men throughout the world, was founded ; and 
on the balcony of Federal Hall in New York City, the 
first capital of the new nation, the Virginian planter 
took the oath as the first President of the United States 
of America. 

It was some years later, in 1799, the fourteenth day 
of December. The great American lay ill. A short 
time before, he had contracted a cold, while riding ioi 
a snow-storm. Despite the doctor's care, he rapidly 
grew worse. It was late in the day. The end was 
near. Around his bedside gathered his sorrowful 
friends. His hand crept feebly across the bed-covers 

—453— 



HERO TALES 



and grasped his other hand. He felt his pulse, and his 
countenance changed. 

^'I die hard,'' he whispered, ^*but I am not afraid 
to go. It is well.'' The great Virginian was dead. The 
planter who had led his fellow-men to glorious triumph 
was gone. Two countries paid tribute to his memory. 
The American people bowed their heads in grief, and 
at his bier they piled their tokens of love and respect 
upon the remains of the * * Father of his Country, ' ' the 
great American who was, and ever shall be, ^^ first in 
war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his country- 
men," — General George Washington. 



*My country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty. 

Of thee I sing; 
Land where my fathers died. 
Land of the Pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain-side 

Let freedom ring. 

*My native country, thee. 
Land of the noble free. 

Thy name I love; 
I love thy roclis and rills. 
Thy woods and templed hills; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

'Let music swell the breeze. 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song; 
Let mortal tongues awalj:e, 
Let all that breathe partalie, 
Let rocks their silence break,- 

The sound prolong. 

'Our father's God, to Thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To thee we sing; 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by Thy might. 

Great God, our King." 



^^ -454— 

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